TohnW  Chadwick 


FROM    THE   LIBRARY   OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON,   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY   HIM   TO 

THE    LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/bopoemsOOchad 


a    (a  JAN  -7  1933 


'^GIGM  SE»\$ 


Book    of    Poems 


BY 

JOHN    W.  CHADWICK. 


V 


.  -  H 


BOSTON: 
R  O  B  E  RTS      BROTHER  S. 

1876. 


Copyright \  1876, 
By  John  W.  Chadwick. 


Cambridge : 
Press  of  Joint  Wilson 


To  one  all  honesty  cuid  truth, 

To  one  all  tenderness  and  love, — 
Father  and  Mother,  —  and  to  one 

Who  dwells  with  happy  saints  above;  — 
Thou,  Sister,  who  wast  more  to  ?ne 

Than  lips  of  mine  can  ever  say  ; 
Dispeller  of  my  darkest  night, 

Dear  prophet  of  my  better  day  ; 
To  one  who  calls  me  Brother  still, 

Most  kind  to  me  and  all  of  mine, 
Strong  to  uphold  in  ti??ie  of  need 

Though  tremtdous  as  the  clinging  vine  ; 
To  one  who  full  of  years  and  grace 

Still  called  me  by  my  earliest  na?)ie, 
Whose  simple  praise  1  counted  more 

Than  any  hollow  voice  of  fame  ; 
To  one,  of  all  my  friends  most  dear, 

A  spirit  brave  and  wise  and  good, 
Whose  lave  has  made  me  more  a  man, 

And  made  God's  love  more  tender  stood ; 
And  tzvo,  —  of  such  the  kingdom  is,  — 

Whose  winsome  prattle  helps  ??ie  more 
Than  aught  that  I  have  ez'er  gleaned 

From  Bible-text  or  scholar  s  lore  ; 
But  most  of  all,  to  one  whose  hand 

Lies  close  in  mine  where'er  I  roam  ; 
My  sternest  critic,  safest  guide, 

The  dear  wife- angel  of  my  home. 


1873. 


l<4 


CONTENTS. 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


Pagb 


My  Barnacles 13 

Whitsuntide 16 

By  the  Sea-shore 19 

Nirvana 22 

All  for  Each 25 

Rain  after  Drought 28 

Sea-sorcery 30 

The  Golden-robin's  Nest 31, 

To  the  Sea 35 

A  September  Gale 37 

Rhododendrons 39 

Crow's  Nest 40 

Wakeful .41 

Leave-taking 42 

u  His  compassions  fail  not  " 43 

Sea-born  Venus 45 

"  What  do  I  know  ?  ' 47 

Works  and  Days 49 


CONTENTS. 


POEMS    OF    LIFE. 

Pack 

Sadness  and  Gladness 55 

Tclc-a-tete 59 

The  Gate  called  Beautiful 62 

Real  and  Ideal 65 

A  Vindication 67 

The  Over-soul 6S 

Insight 70 

Carpe  Diem 71 

The  One  True  Christ 72 

Gifts  in  Sleep 76 

A  Song  of  Trust 79 

Recognition 82 

"  Why  this  Waste?" 85 

The  Greatest  Wonder 86 

Pegasus  in  Harness Sy 

"Water  and  the  Spirit" SS 

Baptismal 90 

The  Harbor-lights 94 

The  Heart  of  it 94 

Psyche 96 

The  Trysting-place 98 

Not  Vet toi 

Unconsciousness 104 

Sub-consciousness 105 

The  Story  of  Medardus 106 

A    Timely  Question no 


CONTENTS.  9 

Page 

What  would  they  say  ? 113 

A  True  Story 115 

Self-possession 116 

The  Other  Side 120 

Nos  morituri  te  salutamiis 122 

Life  after  Death 124 

King  Edwin's  Feast 127 

Buddha's  Lesson 130 

Death  and  Spring 131 

A  Double  Meaning 134 

Sealed  Orders 136 

No  More  Sea 139 

Three  Happy  Souls 141 

The  Two  Waitings 143 

Where? 145 

Their  Thoughts  and  our  Thoughts 149 

With  a  Book  of  Ballads 151 

Recognition 152 

Identity 153 

TIMES   AND   SEASONS. 

Another  Year 157 

Easter  Morning 159 

Hymn.     Sung  at  a  Festival  of  the  Free  Religious  Association       .     .  160 

A  Picnic  Song 161 

A  Song  for  the  Harvest 163 

Before  Christmas 166 

The  Children's  Christmas 168 


IO  CONTENTS. 

Page 

Grace  before  Meat 173 

Annus  Mirabilis 175 

Hymn  for  a  Friend's  Installation 177 

A  Valentine 178 

Catching  Sunshine 179 

Hymn.     Written  for  my  Divinity-school  Graduation 1S1 

Hymn.     For  a  Friend's  Graduation 1S2 

A  Dedication  Hymn 184 

Hymn.     For  a  Friend's  Ordination 185 

The  Law  of  Liberty 1S6 

Saint  Louis 187 

In  June 189 

Hymn.     For  the  Ordination  of  Mrs.  Celia  Burleigh 190 

Horace  Greeley 191 

Charles  Sumner 193 

After  Sweet  Singing 194 

William  Henry  Furness 195 

Ezra  Stiles  Gannett 199 

Bald-cap  revisited 201 

Auld  Lang  Syne 20S 


POEMS     OF    NATURE. 


POEMS    OF    NATURE. 


MY    BARNACLES. 


H  OT  those  whose  life  is  hid  with  God 


y 


In  the  unfathomed  sea  ; 
Xot  those  which  gleam  so  milky-white 
Under  my  dory's  lee, 


As  o'er  her  side  I  softly  lean, 

And  watch  the  life  below.  — 
The  strange,  fair  things  which  there  abide, 

And  those  which  come  and  go. 

Xor  call  I  mine  the  crowds  that  cling 
To  many  a  venturous  keel.  — 

A  mimic  world,  whose  tiny  folk 
Through  ocean  spaces  steal. 

Mine  are  the  little  creatures  left 
By  the  retreating 

Who  long  for  it  to  come  again, 
So  masterful  and  free. 


14  MY  BARNACLES. 

It  goes  :  the  hot  sun  scorches  them, 

And  lovers'  careless  feet 
Tread  them  to  death,  as  if  no  life 

But  theirs  were  passing  sweet. 

It  comes  :  it  woos,  it  kisses  them  ; 

It  drenches  them  with  love  ; 
It  is  a  presence  everywhere,  — 

Around,  beneath,  above. 

And  these  are  mine  by  lover's  right ; 

And,  when  the  tide  is  low, 
Down  to  its  edge  with  scooping  hands 

Or  cup  of  shell  I  go, 

And  dip  the  briny  waters  up, 
And  bear  them  back  to  give 

To  these  wee  things  that  long  for  them 
As  dying  men  to  live. 

How  eagerly  their  shells  dispart 

To  take  the  moisture  in  ! 
And  do  I  hear  a  tiny  laugh,  — ■ 

The  faintest,  merriest  din  ? 

What  think  they  of  the  sudden  draught  ? 

That  'tis  the  coming  sea  ? 
A  little  wave  sent  on  before 

The  mighty  company? 


MY  BARNACLES.  I  5 

And  when  they  know  it  is  not  that, 

Do  they  reproach  the  hand 
Which  brings  the  broken  promise  up 

From  the  wave-beaten  strand  ? 

Believe  it  not :  they  know  the  step 

Of  the  advancing  sea, 
Better  than  maidens  know  the  feet 

That  come  so  stealthily. 

They  take,  with  thanks,  the  human  help, 

And  still  with  patience  wait 
For  the  vast  love  to  come  and  fill 

The  void  it  doth  create. 

So  wait  our  souls  on  Thee,  O  God  ! 

Their  longing  is  from  Thee  : 
All  human  help  must  ever  hint 

At  Thy  sufficiency. 

Come  as  the  ocean  comes,  to  give 

Its  energy  divine  ; 
Fold  us  in  Thy  encircling  arms, 

And  make  us  wholly  Thine. 


Mart.lehead,  August,  1S71. 


1 6  WHITSUNTIDE. 


WHITSUNTIDE. 


UT  from  the  city's  flaming  heart, 
Miles  but  a  dozen  away, 
I  know  of  a  mountain's  secret  shrine, 
Where  lately  I  went  to  pray. 


But  my  prayer  was  not  for  the  smallest  boon  : 

It  was  nothing  but  thanks  and  joy, 
As  I  roamed  through  the  scented  woodland  paths, 

With  the  heart  of  a  happy  boy ; 

As  I  touched  the  tips  of  the  maple-boughs, 

Shaded  with  softest  brown  \ 
As  the  thistle  showed  me  her  armature, 

Frosted  with  silvery  down. 

And,  oh  !  the  gleam  of  the  birches'  stems, 

And  the  new  green  of  the  pines, 
And  the  hemlock  fringes  sweeping  low, 

Till  they  touched  the  creeping  vines  ! 


WHITSUNTIDE.  1 7 

And  every  bank  was  studded  thick 

With  wild  flowers  sweet  and  rare  ; 
While  the  ferns  seemed  made  of  spirit-stuff, 

They  were  so  slight  and  fair. 

And  the  city  was  gleaming  far  away 

Through  a  veil  of  thin  white  mist, 
And  billows  of  green  rolled  in  between, 

Till  the  land  and  the  water  kissed. 

It  was  only  a  dozen  miles  away, 

As  flies  the  laden  bee, 
But  to  my  free  thought  'twas  a  hundred  leagues, 

And  more,  to  the  shining  sea. 

Could  it  be,  I  thought,  in  the  world  with  this 

There  was  dust  and  heat  and  glare  ? 
Could  it  be  there  was  sorrow  and  hate  and  sin, 

And  terror  and  wild  despair  ? 

Alas  !  it  could  ;  but  for  this  one  day 

I  would  live  as  if  it  could  not ; 
I  would  dream  that  the  world,  from  end  to  end, 

Was  only  this  one  dear  spot. 

All  should  be  sweet  and  cool  and  pure ; 

All  should  be  gay  and  free  ; 
All  men  be  as  gentle,  all  women  as  true 

As  the  man  and  the  woman  with  me. 


1 8  WHITSUNTIDE. 

They  had  lived  with  the  birds  and  the  flowers  so  long 
They  seemed  to  have  learned  their  speech  : 

Softer  it  fell  on  my  drowsy  sense 
Than  the  rain  on  a  sandy  beach. 

They  could  call  the  trees  and  the  flowers  by  name  ; 

They  could  tell  me  of  all  their  times ; 
And  their  talk  was  a  poem  that  needed  not 

The  help  of  a  poet's  rhymes. 

Where  was  the  service  that  day,  think  you  ? 

Down  in  the  valley  below, 
Where  the  sweet-toned  bell  of  the  village  church 

Was  swinging  to  and  fro ; 

Or  was  it  there,  on  the  mountain-side, 

Where  the  Spirit,  with  two  or  three, 
Was  saying  softly,  in  various  speech, 

"  Let  the  little  ones  come  unto  me  ? " 

1S72. 


BY  THE  SEA-SHORE. 


19 


BY   THE   SEA-SHORE. 


HE  curved  strand 
Of  cool,  gray  sand 
Lies  like  a  sickle  by  the  sea  \ 
The  tide  is  low, 
But  soft  and  slow 
Is  creeping  higher  up  the  lea. 


The  beach-birds  fleet, 

With  twinkling  feet, 
Hurry  and  scurry  to  and  fro, 

And  sip,  and  chat 

Of  this  and  that 
Which  you  and  I  may  never  know. 


The  runlets  gay, 

That  haste  away 
To  meet  each  snowy-bosomed  crest, 

Enrich  the  shore 

With  fleeting  store 
Of  art-defying  arabesque. 


20  BY   THE   SEA-SHORE. 

Each  higher  wave 

Doth  touch  and  lave 
A  million  pebbles  smooth  and  bright  \ 

Straightway  they  grow 

A  beauteous  show, 
With  hues  unknown  before  bedight. 

High  up  the  beach, 

Far  out  of  reach 
Of  common  tides  that  ebb  and  flow, 

The  drift-wood's  heap 

Doth  record  keep 
Of  storms  that  perished  long  ago. 

Nor  storms  alone : 

I  hear  the  moan 
Of  voices  choked  by  dashing  brine, 

When  sunken  rock 

Or  tempest  shock 
Crushed  the  good  vessel's  oaken  spine. 

Where  ends  the  beach, 

The  cliffs  upreach 
Their  lichen-wrinkled  foreheads  old; 

And  here  I  rest, 

While  all  the  west 
Grows  brighter  with  the  sunset's  gold. 


BY  THE   SEA-SHORE.  21 

Far  out  at  sea, 

The  ships  that  flee 
Along  the  dim  horizon's  line 

Their  sails  unfold 

Like  cloth  of  gold, 
Transfigured  by  that  light  divine. 

A  calm  more  deep, 

As  'twere  asleep, 
Upon  the  weary  ocean  falls ; 

So  low  it  sighs, 

Its  murmur  dies, 
While  shrill  the  boding  cricket  calls. 

0  peace  and  rest ! 
Upon  the  breast 

Of  God  himself  I  seem  to  lean, 

No  break,  no  bar 

Of  sun  or  star : 
Just  God  and  I,  with  naught  between. 

Oh,  when  some  day 
In  vain  I  pray 
For  days  like  this  to  come  again, 

1  shall  rejoice 
With  heart  and  voice 

That  one  such  day  has  ever  been. 


Marble  head,  1875. 


22  NIRVANA. 


NIRVANA. 

LONG  the  scholar's  glowing  page 
I  read  the  Orient  thinker's  dream 
Of  things  that  are  not  what  they  seem, 

Of  mystic  chant  and  Soma's  rage. 

The  sunlight  flooding  all  the  room 
To  me  again  was  Indra's  smile, 
And  on  the  hearth  the  blazing  pile 

For  Agni's  sake  did  fret  and  fume. 


Yet  most  I  read  of  who  aspire 

To  win  Nirvana's  deep  repose, — 
Of  that  long  way  the  spirit  goes 

To  reach  the  absence  of  desire. 

But  through  the  music  of  my  book 
Another  music  smote  my  ear, — 
A  tinkle  silver-sweet  and  clear,   - 

The  babble  of  the  mountain  brook. 


NIRVANA,  23 

"  Oh  !  leave/'  it  said,  "your  ancient  seers  ; 
Come  out  into  the  woods  with  me  ; 
Behold  an  older  mystery 
Than  Buddhist's  hope  or  Brahman's  fears  ! " 

The  voice  so  sweet  I  could  but  hear. 
I  sallied  forth,  with  staff  in  hand, 
Where,  mile  on  mile,  the  mountain  land 

Was  radiant  with  the  dying  year. 

I  heard  the  startled  partridge  whirr, 
And  crinkling  through  the  tender  grass 
I  saw  the  striped  adder  pass, 

Where  dropped  the  chestnut's  prickly  burr. 

I  saw  the  miracle  of  life 

From  death  upspringing  evermore  ; 

The  fallen  tree  a  forest  bore 
Of  tiny  forms  with  beauty  rife. 

I  gathered  mosses  rare  and  sweet, 
The  acorn  in  its  carven  cup  \ 

'  Mid  heaps  of  leaves,  wind-gathered  up, 
I  trod  with  half-remorseful  feet. 

The  maple's  blush  I  made  my  own, 
The  sumac's  crimson  splendor  bold, 
The  poplar's  hue  of  paly  gold, 

The  faded  chestnut,  crisp  and  brown. 


24  NIRVANA. 

I  climbed  the  mountain's  shaggy  crest, 
Where  masses  huge  of  molten  rock, 
After  long  years  of  pain  and  shock, 

Fern-covered,  from  their  wanderings  rest. 

Far,  far  below  the  valley  spread 
Its  rich,  roof-dotted,  wide  expanse  ; 
And  further  still  the  sunlight's  dance 

The  amorous  river  gayly  led. 

But,  still,  with  all  I  heard  or  saw 

There  mingled  thoughts  of  that  old  time, 
And  that  enchanted  Eastern  clime 

Where  Buddha  gave  his  mystic  law,  — 

Till,  wearied  with  the  lengthy  way, 
I  found  a  spot  where  all  was  still, 
Just  as  the  sun  behind  the  hill 

Was  making  bright  the  parting  day. 

On  either  side  the  mountains  stood, 
Masses  of  color  rich  and  warm  ; 
And  over  them,  in  giant  form, 

The  rosy  moon  serenely  glowed. 

My  heart  was  full  as  it  could  hold  ; 

The  Buddha's  paradise  was  mine; 

My  mountain-nook  its  inmost  shrine, 
The  fretted  sky  its  roof  of  gold. 


ALL   FOR  EACH.  25 

Nirvana's  peace  my  soul  had  found,  — ■ 
Absence  complete  of  all  desire,  — 
While  the  great  moon  was  mounting  higher 

And  deeper  quiet  breathed  around. 

Catskills,  October,  1872. 

ALL   FOR   EACH. 


SIT  on  the  rocky  headland 

That  juts  from  the  queer  old  town, 
Where  the  lichen-covered  ledges 

To  meet  the  tides  run  down. 

There  are  voices  of  children  ringing 
Through  the  still  morning  air, 

And  a  lusty  cock  is  crowing, 
And,  down  on  the  water  there, 

A  single  rower  is  fretting 
The  sea  with  a  gentle  sound, 

And  the  breath  of  an  ended  summer 
Is  whispering  around. 

The  grasses  seem  to  hear  it, 
And  shudder  as  if  with  pain ; 

It  is  full  of  a  sad  foreboding 
Of  the  Jotuns'  icy  reign. 


26  ALL   FOR   EACH. 

The  dories  sway  at  their  moorings, 
As  they  catch  the  fitful  breeze  ; 

And  they  sidle  against  each  other, 
As  if  themselves  to  please. 

But  'tis  only  me  they  are  pleasing,  — 
The  picture  is  all  for  me,  — 

And  the  gray  clouds  sailing  over, 
And  the  sunlight  on  the  sea ; 

And  the  white  sails  of  the  vessels, 
That  gleam  in  the  morning  sun ; 

And  the  sounds  of  far-off  labor, 
And  the  shadows  cold  and  dun  ; 

And  the  butterfly,  knowing  surely 
That  summer  is  ended  for  him  ; 

And  the  bee,  that  must  wander  widely 
To  fill  his  sacs  to  the  brim. 

And  mine  is  the  insect's  rapture, 
And  mine  is  the  sea-gull's  pride, 

As  he  sees  his  whiteness  mirrored 
Far  down  in  the  gleaming  tide. 

And  all  the  ships  in  the  offing, 
Outward  and  inward  bound, 

Are  mine,  and  with  my  ventures 
Go  sailing;  the  world  around. 


ALL   FOR   EACH.  27 

And  these  are  but  one  day's  riches, 

The  gatherings  of  an  hour  \ 
But  every  day  is  mighty, 

Each  night  is  a  night  of  power. 

For  all  of  the  brown  old  planet, 

All  of  the  deep  blue  sky, 
All  that  the  ear  can  harken, 

All  that  can  fill  the  eye, 

Is  mine  by  the  law  of  Beauty  ; 

And  men  may  give  or  withhold, 
When  He  who  is  God  of  Beauty 

Her  secret  to  us  has  told. 

Marblehead,  September,  1873. 


2o 


RAIN  AFTER  DROUGHT. 


RAIN   AFTER   DROUGHT. 

FEW  short  hours  ago,  and  all  the  land 
Lay  as    in   fever,  faint  and   parched  with 
drought \ 

And  so  had  lain,  while  many  a  wear}-  day 
Dragged  the  long  horror  of  its  minutes  out. 

The  juiceless  fruits  fell  from  the  dusty  trees ; 

The  farmer  doubted  if  the  Lord  was  good, 
As,  sad,  he  watched  the  labor  of  his  hands 

Made  useless  by  the  Day-god's  fiery  mood. 

The  hot  streets  sickened  in  the  burning  glare  j 
The  roadsides  lost  the  glory  of  their  green  \ 

No  second  growth  sprang  up  to  glad  the  eye, 
Where  once  the  mower  with  his  scythe  had  been. 


A  few  short  hours  ago  !     And  now,  behold, 
Freshness  and  beauty  gleam  on  every  side ; 

The  earth  has  drunk  its  fill,  and  all  about 
The  amber  pools  are  stretching  far  and  wide. 


RAIN  AFTER   DROUGHT.  29 

A  million  drops  are  flashing  in  the  sun  ; 

The  springs  far  down  the  upper  wonder  know ; 
The  farmer  laughs,  and  little  cares  how  fast 

Through  his  torn  hat  the  cooling  streamlets  flow. 

And  all  the  fields  and  pastures  seem  to  say, 

With  joyous  smile  that  I  shall  ne'er  forget, 
And  all  the  flowers  and  trees  in  chorus  join, 
"  We  knew  'twould  come  !     He  never  failed  us  yet." 


God  of  my  life,  as  God  of  all  beside, 

This  lovely  wonder,  which  Thy  hand  hath  wrought, 
Quickens  in  thought  the  mercies  manifold 

Which  Thy  great  love  into  my  soul  hath  brought. 

For  I  have  lain,  full  oft,  as  hot  and  dry 
As  ever  earth  in  summer's  fiercest  hour ; 

And  the  long  days,  slow  creeping  over  me, 
Brought  me  no  tokens  of  Thy  gracious  power. 

Then,  at  Thy  word,  down  fell  Thy  spirit-rain ; 

I  felt  its  coolness  all  my  being  through  ; 
Made  fresh  and  clean  and  joyous  every  whit, 

I  heard  the  whisper,  "  I  make  all  things  new." 

But  mine,  alas  !  was  not  the  holy  faith 

The  parched  earth  felt  through  all  her  thirsty  hours  : 
I  was  in  fear  that  never  more  again 

Should  I  be  quickened  by  the  heavenly  powers. 


$0  SEA-SORCERY. 

So  shall  it  be  no  more  ;  but  though  I  lie 
For  many  days  as  one  Thou  dost  forget, 

Recalling  this  glad  hour,  my  heart  shall  say, 
"  I  know  'twill  come  !     He  never  failed  me  yet. 

Marblehead,  August,  1870. 


SEA-SORCERY. 

CHEERILY  blew  the  soft  mid-summer  wind, 
And  morn's  first  freshness  had  not  left  the 
sky, 

As  our  small  craft  shot  past  the  harbor-buoy 
And  left  the  light-house  far  upon  the  lee, 
And  stood  right  out  into  the  glistening  bay ; 
Leaving  behind  the  sad  and  sullen  roar 
Of  the  great  waves  that  broke  upon  the  rocks, 
Tossing  the  rock-weed  madly  to  and  fro  ; 
Leaving  behind  the  voices  clear  and  sweet 
Of  happy  children  playing  on  the  beach, 
And  the  one  ancient,  immemorial  man 
Whose  dory  rocked  amid  the  boiling  surf, 
While  he,  as  ever,  sat  with  eyes  cast  down. 
Wondering  what  luck  his  lines  would  bring  that  day. 
Dimmer  and  dimmer  grew  the  distant  shore  ; 
Down  dropped  the  spires  below  the  violet  line 
Where  sea  and  sky  were  married  into  one, 
And  Still  we  sailed. 


SEA-SORCERY.  3* 

And  more  and  more  there  fell 
Upon  our  spirits  such  a  subtle  charm, 
So  weird  a  spell  of  sea-wrought  sorcery, 
That  all  things  seemed  unto  our  spirits  strange. 
Strange  seemed  the  sky  above,  and  strange  the  sea, 
And  strange  the  vessels  flitting  to  and  fro 
Across  the  bay.     Strange  seemed  we  each  to  each 
And  to  ourselves  ;  and,  when  our  voices  smote 
The  stillness,  half  they  seemed  like  voices  heard 
In  lives  long  gone,  or  lives  that  were  to  be. 
Little  we  spoke,  and  less  of  words  our  own  ; 
But  now  and  then  some  poet's  music  heard 
In  that  old  time  before  we  sailed  away, 
It  might  have  been  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Dream-like  grew  all  the  past,  until  it  seemed 
To  be  no  past  of  ours. 

But  when  the  sun 
Began  to  linger  towards  the  western  verge, 
We  turned  our  prow  and  bade  him  be  our  guide ; 
Yet  more  in  doubt  than  faith  that  we  should  find 
The  land  from  which  we  once  had  sailed  away,  — 
Ay,  whether  such  a  land  there  was  at  all. 
Save  as  some  baseless  phantom  of  our  brains. 
And  when  again  we  heard  the  roaring  surf, 
And  saw  the  old,  familiar,  storm-bleached  crags, 
And  the  long  curve  of  pebbly  beach  beyond, 
The  wonder  grew,  till  it  was  keen  as  pain, 
Whether  indeed  we  sailed  away  that  morn, 


32  SEA-SOXCERK 

Or  in  some  dim  gray  morning  of  the  world  ; 

Whether  some  few  brief  hours  had  flitted  by 

Between  the  morning  and  the  evening  stars, 

Or  generations  had  arrived  and  gone, 

And  states  had  fallen  'mid  the  crash  of  arms, 

And  justice  grown  more  ample  on  the  earth. 

There  sat  the  ancient,  immemorial  man, 

Tending  his  line  amid  the  boiling  surf, 

And  still  the  charm  was  not  dissolved  quite  : 

So  long  had  he  been  there,  it  seemed  not  strange 

That  he  should  sit  a  thousand  years  or  more, 

Paying  no  heed  to  aught  that  passed  him  by. 

At  length  our  moorings  reached,  our  anchor  dropped, 

Amid  a  crowd  we  stood  upon  the  shore,  — 

A  crowd  whose  faces  looked  a  trifle  strange  ; 

Till  from  among  them  came  a  little  child, 

And  put  her  hand  in  mine  and  lifted  up  her  face 

For  kisses.     Then  the  charm  was  snapped  ; 

And  I  went  homeward,  glad  to  be  restored 

To  the  firm  earth  and  its  familiar  ways. 

1S76. 


THE   GOLDEX-ROBIN'S  NEST. 


THE   GOLDEN-ROBIN'S    NEST. 

HE  golden-robin  came  to  build  his  nest 
High  in  the  elm-tree's  ever-nodding  crest 
2J  All  the  long  day,  upon  his  task  intent, 
Backward  and  forward  busily  he  went, 


Gathering  from  far  and  near  the  tiny  shreds 
That  birdies  weave  for  little  birdies'  beds  ; 
Now  bits  of  grass,  now  bits  of  vagrant  string, 
And  now  some  queerer,  dearer  sort  of  thing. 

For  on  the  lawn,  where  he  was  wont  to  come 
In  search  of  stuff  to  build  his  pretty  home, 
We  dropped  one  day  a  lock  of  golden  hair 
Which  our  wee  darling  easily  could  spare  ; 

And  close  beside  it  tenderly  we  placed 
A  lock  that  had  the  stooping  shoulders  graced 
Of  her  old  grandsire  ;  it  was  white  as  snow, 
Or  cherry-trees  when  they  are  all  ablow. 

2*  C 


34  THE    GOLDEX-ROBIX'S  NEST. 

Then  throve  the  golden-robin's  work  apace  ; 
Hundreds  of  times  he  sought  the  lucky  place 
Where  sure,  he  thought,  in  his  bird-fashion  dim, 
Wondrous  provision  had  been  made  for  him. 

Both  locks,  the  white  and  golden,  disappeared  ; 
The  nest  was  finished,  and  the  brood  was  reared  ; 
And  then  there  came  a  pleasant  summer's  day 
When  the  last  golden-robin  flew  away. 

Ere  long,  in  triumph,  from  its  leafy  height, 
We  bore  the  nest  so  wonderfully  dight, 
And  saw  how  prettily  the  white  and  gold 
Made  warp  and  woof  of  many  a  gleaming  fold. 

But  when  again  the  golden-robins  came, 
Cleaving  the  orchards  with  their  breasts  aflame, 
Grandsire's  white  locks  and  baby's  golden  head 
Were  lying  low,  both  in  one  grassy  bed. 

And  so  more  dear  than  ever  is  the  nest 
Ta'en  from  the  elm-tree's  ever  nodding  crest. 
Little  the  golden-robin  thought  how  rare 
A  thing  lie  wrought  of  white  and  golden  hair! 

July,  1874. 


TO    THE   SEA. 


35 


TO    THE    SEA. 


THOU  that  art  so  nearly  infinite  ! 

Lashing   thy  shores  that    drip  with   tangled 
weed  ! 
Listening  to  thy  deep  voice,  another  speaks, 

And  tells  me  of  the  Infinite  indeed. 


Thy  hollow  caves  are  voiceful  with  His  name, 
Whose  love  is  deeper  than  thy  deepest  place, 

Whose  inspirations  are  more  strong  and  free 
Than  the  great  storms  that  oversweep  thy  face. 

Oh,  never  time  was  yet,  since  first  He  made 
The  purple  pillars  of  thy  farthest  bound, 

That  thou  didst  cease  from  murmuring  to  the  shore, 
And  wooing  it  with  sweet  and  holy  sound. 


And  He  that  is  the  shoreless  Infinite, 
And  I  that  am  an  island  on  His  breast, 

Live  in  such  wise  that  evermore  he  woos 
My  soul  and  fills  it  with  his  great  unrest. 


36  TO    THE   SEA. 

And  as  I  hear  thy  voice,  may  He  my  prayer, 
That  I  may  listen  while  His  music  beats, 

And,  like  the  sea-shell,  murmur  back  again 
That  which  once  heard  it  evermore  repeats. 

So  that  my  life  may  rounded  be,  and  smooth, 
As  are  these  pebbles  on  thy  shining  strand  ; 

So  that  my  soul,  as  do  thy  countless  waves, 
May  haste  to  do  whate'er  He  may  command. 

1S65. 


A    SEPTEMBER   GALE.  37 


A    SEPTEMBER   GALE. 

LOSE  as  a  limpet  clinging  to  the  rocks, 

Battered    and    drenched  by  the   remorseless 
gale, 

1  watch  the  wild  commotion  it  has  made, 
Through  the  dim  twilight  peering  eagerly. 
The  waves  are  running  higher  than  the  masts 
Of  the  small  craft  they  drive  so  swift  along, 
Driven  themselves  by  the  loud-cracking  whip 
Of  the  fierce  wind,  and  chasing  each  the  next 
With  foam,  like  hair,  blown  wild  before  the  blast. 
That  flying  fringe  of  foam  from  every  wave 
Is  like  the  breath  of  restless,  fiery  steeds, 
As  from  their  quivering  nostrils  it  is  driven 
[Gainst  the  hot  flanks  that  steam  just  on  before, 
When  all  the  field  is  torn  with  Hying  hoofs, 
And  all  the  air  is  full  of  cheering  cries, 
A  moment  ere  the  hosts  in  battle  join. 
The  waves,  like  steeds,  are  pawing  at  the  rocks. 
And  snorting  loud  and  roaring  as  in  pain  ; 
While,  like  a  streamer  long,  the  flying  spray 


38  A    SEPTEMBER   GALE. 

Tugs  at  the  harbor-buoy,  and  like  a  dog 

In  leash,  or  tiger  chained,  at  every  pier 

Some  vessel  strains  and  frets  and  chafes  in  vain. 

And  there  are  cries  of  quick  and  sharp  command, 

Thick-spiced  with  oaths,  borne  shoreward  on  the  wind 

From  schooners'  decks  as  they  drift  hopelessly, 

Dragging  their  anchors  at  their  cables'  length, 

To  dash,  at  last,  upon  the  pitiless  rocks 

And  strew  their  tackle  on  the  whelming  sea. 

And,  as  I  watch  the  elemental  rage, 

My  heart  is  wild  with  joy  and  ecstasy. 

Now  all  is  dark,  and  now  a  sudden  flash 
Of  lightning  from  an  ebon  mass  of  cloud 
Turns  every  crest  to  gold ;  to  gold  the  masts 
Of  every  vessel  hurrying  to  her  doom ; 
To  gold  the  light-house  at  the  harbor's  mouth, 
Sending  its  steadfast  warning  o'er  the  bay ; 
And  by  that  flash  I  see,  not  far  away, 
A  woman's  face,  as  pale  as  palest  death, 
And  haggard,  too,  with  speechless  agony. 
My  joy  is  done.     O  woman,  Heaven  keep 
Thy  husband  'mid  the  smiting  of  the  seas, 
And  bring  him  safely  to  thine  arms  again, 
And  to  the  mute  caresses  of  his  babes  ! 

NfARBLEHEADj  September,  1874. 


RHODODENDRONS.  39 

RHODODENDRONS. 

''  God  is  a  gocd  worker,  but  he  likes  to  be  helped." 

Y(  >U  great  beauties,  who  can  ever  know 
How  passing  fair  you  are  to  look  upon  ! 
I,  'mid  your  glories  slowly  wandering  on, 
And  almost  faint  with  joy  that  you  can  glow 
With  hues  so  rich  and  varied,  row  on  row, 
A  corner  in  my  heart  for  him  alone 
Must  keep,  who  hath  in  your  fair  petals  shown 
Such  things  to  us  as  never  had  been  so 
But  for  his  loving  patience,  sweet  and  long  ; 
Ay,  and  no  less  to  the  clear  eye  of  God, 
Which  never  yet  in  all  His  endless  years, 
Till  you  out-bloomed  in  colors  pure  as  song, 
Had  seen  such  fairness  springing  from  the  sod 
As  this  which  fills  our  eyes  with  happy  tears. 

Philadelphia,  1S76. 


40  CROWS  NEST. 


CROW'S    NEST. 

UILDING  our  beacon  fire,  we  spread  our  feast 
On  the  bare  cliff  high  up  against  the  sky  ; 
Eastward  a  few  lone  clouds  went  sailing-  by, 
As  more  and  more  the  sunset  glow  increased, 
And  every  sound  of  bird  and  leaf  had  ceased; 
Far  down  below,  we  could  the  stream  espy, 
Seeming  at  rest  all  motionless  to  lie  ; 
And  life  from  every  burden  seemed  released. 
Range  beyond  range,  we  saw  the  wooded  heights  ; 

And  far  away,  backed  against  paly  gold. 
Their  rightful  lords  —  unspeakable  delights  !  — 

Their  purple  splendor  sturdily  uphold, 
While,  climbing  slow,  the  moon  and  eve's  first  star 
Led  every  thought  to  heights  more  cool  and  far. 

White  Mountains,  1S75. 


WAKEFUL. 


4' 


WAKEFUL. 

THOU  that  bringest  sweet  surcease  from  care, 
Long  have  I  sought  thy  drowsy  spell  in  vain  ; 
Yet  less,  that  yonder  hoarsely-shrieking  train 
Doth  to  invade  these  sacred  precincts  dare, 
Than  that  a  thousand  images  most  fair 

Are  thronging  all  the  spaces  of  my  brain, — 
Visions  of  beauty  without  fleck  or  stain, 
Born  of  the  day's  delight  beyond  compare. 
For  once  I  chide  thee  not  that  thou  dost  stay. 

Better  than  thee  these  memories  vague  and  sweet 
Of  joys  that  filled  the  heart  of  all  the  day, 

Made  yet  more  dear  because  they  were  so  fleet, 
And  thanks  more  still  than  faintliest  whispered  prayer 
To  Him  whose  love  hath  made  the  world  so  fair. 


White  Mountains,  1S75. 


42  LEAVE-TAKING. 


LEAVE-TAKING. 

te^^gp^iHIS  is  the  trysting-place  ;  from  day  to  day, 
k^WM        Without  so  much  as  willing  to  be  here, 
:^€^&aH   The  laughing  hours  have  seen  me  at  thy  side, 
Because  thou  art  so  beautiful  and  dear. 

But  this  day  is  the  last.     To-morrow  morn 
Back  to  the  city's  mournful  streets  I  hie, 

There  to  be  cheated  by  the  art  of  man 
Of  God's  inheritance  of  air  and  sky. 

But  oh  !  for  once  thou  art  too  beautiful ! 

Thy  beauty  makes  it  agony  to  part. 
Sea,  thou  art  cruel,  so,  on  this  last  day. 

To  try  the  weakness  of  thy  lover's  heart. 

To-day,  methinks,  thou  need'st  not  so  have  smiled. 
Like  some  proud  beauty,  full  of  high  disdain  ; 

Oh!  hide  thy  fairness  with  some  misty  veil, 
And  lighten  so  the  harden  of  my  pain. 


".HIS  COMPASSIONS  FAIL   A'OT."  43 

Nay,  do  not  hearken,  for  there  is  no  need  \ 
This  sudden  rush  of  tears  will  do  as  well : 

One  more  last  look,  and  then  thy  voice  shall  sound 
As  sounds,  far  off,  some  solemn  vesper-bell. 

But  something  of  thy  freshness  in  my  heart 
Will  linger  still,  and  permanently  bless  ; 

And  I  shall  hear,  'mid  things  that  come  and  go, 
The  murmur  of  thy  everlastingness. 

September,  [873. 


"HIS    COMPASSIONS    FAIL   NOT.' 


HE  farmer  chides  the  tardy  spring, 
The  sun  withholds  his  wonted  ray, 
The  days  are  dull  and  cold  and  gray, 

No  shadow  doth  the  maple  fling. 


From  snow-clad  peaks  and  icy  main, 
The  north  wind  cometh  wet  and  chill, 
And  evermore  the  clouds  distil 

The  hoarded  treasure  of  the  rain. 

But  still,  O  miracle  of  good ! 

The  crocus  springs,  the  violets  peep, 
The  straggling  vines  begin  to  creep, 

The  dandelion  gilds  the  sod. 


44  "HZS  COMPASSIONS  FAIL  NOT." 

The  rain  may  fall  in  constant  showers, 
The  south  wind  tarry  on  its  way  ; 
But  through  the  night  and  through  the  day 

Advance  the  summer's  fragrant  hours. 

And  though  the  north-wind  force  him  back, 
The  song-bird  hurries  from  the  South, 
With  summer's  music  in  his  mouth, 

And  studs  with  songs  his  airy  track. 

What  then,  my  soul,  if  thou  must  know 
Thy  days  of  darkness,  gloom  and  cold^ 
If  joy  its  ruddy  beams  withhold, 

And  grief  compels  my  tears  to  flow  ? 

And  what  if,  when  with  bended  form 
I  praise  the  gods  for  sorrows  past, 
There  ever  comes  a  fiercer  blast, 

And  darker  ruin  of  the  storm  ? 

As  tarry  not  the  flowers  of  June 
For  all  the  ill  the  heavens  can  do, 
And,  to  their  inmost  natures  true, 

The  birds  rejoice  in  sweetest  tune  : 

So,  Father,  shall  it  be  with  me  : 

And  whether  winds  blow  foul  or  fair, 
Through  want  and  woe,  and  toil  and  care, 

Still  will  I  struggle  up  to  Thee  ; 


SEA-BORN  VENUS.  45 

That,  though  my  winter  clays  be  long, 
And  brighter  skies  refuse  to  conic, 
My  life  no  less  may  sweetly  bloom, 

And  none  the  less  be  full  of  sons:. 


Brooklyn,  1868. 


%1  /  "-'■ 


SEA-BORN   VENUS. 

WONDER  not  men  fabled  as  they  did, 
In  that  old  rapture  of  Hellenic  days, 

Of  Venus  as  the  daughter  of  the  Sea, 
From  its  white  foam  upspringing,  full  of 
grace. 


For  I  have  watched  thy  beauty  hour  by  hour, 
Lying  at  thy  dear  side  all  hushed  and  still, 

Bidding  thee  work  on  me  thy  secret  spells, 
And  with  thy  fulness  all  my  being  fill. 

"  Ay,  sea-born  beauty,  but  how  sea-born  love  ?  " 
I  hear  the  doubter  question  and  confess. 

But  who,  still  young,  has  wandered  by  thy  side, 
The  old  Hellenic  riddle  well  may  guess. 

Thou  art  the  mother  of  all  tender  thoughts, 
Of  longings  and  of  infinite  desires  ; 

'1  he  yearning  of  thy  never-ending  plaint 
A  kindred  yearning  in  our  souls  inspires. 


46  SEA-BORN   VENUS. 

When  youths  and  maidens  walk  thy  shining  strand, 
And  listen  to  thy  harmonies  and  hymns, 

There  is  a  mist  that  is  not  of  the  sea 

That  gathers  fast  and  all  their  vision  dims. 

Their  speech  is  silence,  but  it  tells  a  tale 

Of  that  which  makes  t'he  merry  world  go  round  ; 

Thou  dost  interpret  for  them  every  thought 

Which,  sudden,  they  in  their  fresh  hearts  have  found. 

And  so  thou  art  the  lover's  go-between  ; 

So  love  that  knows  itself  is  born  of  thee ; 
And  hearts  already  pledged  become  more  fond 

While  listening  to  thy  murmurings,  O  Sea ! 

Ay,  love  is  born  of  thee,  and  deeper  love 

Than  ever  flows  to  any  human  goal,  — 
Love  of  that  Spirit  who  in  every  tide 

Hints  at  the  deeper  currents  of  the  soul. 

We  love  thee  best,  since  thou  art  type  of  Him  : 

Thou  freshening  earth  as  she  through  space  is  hurled, 

And  He,  the  ocean  of  the  universe, 

Freshening  for  aye  the  courses  of  the  world. 


1872. 


"  WHAT  DO   I  KWOIV 7" 


WHAT    DO    I    KNOW  ?' 

Motto  on    Montaigne's  sea1. 


POX  this  heaven-kissing  hill, 

On  this  mid-summer  day  of  days, 
S^fed-    That  sad  old  question  shoulders  in 

Among  my  thoughts  of  prayer  and  praise, 

What  do  I  know  ?     Not  much,  alas  ! 

Of  all  the  breadth  and  depth  and  height 
That  presses  upon  soul  and  sense 

From  day  to  day,  from  night  to  night. 

And  yet  I  know  the  light  is  sweet, 
And  pleasant  'tis  to  see  the  sun,  — 

What  time  he  climbs  the  eastern  hills, 
And  when  his  course  is  nearly  done. 

I  know  the  look  of  wind-blown  grass, 

The  quiet  rustle  of  the  corn, 
The  lusty  song  the  thrasher  sings 

To  usher  in  the  glowing  morn. 


48  "WHAT  DO   I  KXOW. 

I  know  to  what  a  merry  tunc 
Von  river  ripples  on  its  way, 

And  how,  along  its  leafy  brink 

The  drooping  branches  softly  sway 

I  know  the  springs  that  trickle  down 
'Through  many  a  rod  of  brush  and  fern, 

Divinely  cool,  nor  Zeus  himself 

Drank  better  drink  from  Hebe's  urn. 

I  know  what  fine  enchantments  lurk 
In  clouds  that  trail  their  shadows  dun 

O'er  hill  and  vale,  or  lie  at  ease 
Along  the  west  at  set  of  sun. 

I  know  the  night  is  calm  and  cool, 
And  welcome  when  the  day  is  spent  ; 

And  when  it  fdls  the  sky  with  stars, 
Fills  all  my  soul  with  sweet  content. 

But  in  the  worlds  of  thought  and  love 
Yet  more  and  better  things  I  know 

Than  this  mid-summer  day  of  days, 
For  all  its  treasures,  has  to  show. 

I  know  that  many  friends  are  kind. 
That  many  hearts  are  fond  and  true; 

1  know  —  but  hush  !  I  may  not  tell 
The  half  I  know,  Montaigne,  to  you. 


WORKS  AND   DAWS. 


49 


Wherefore,  0  skeptic,  go  and  try 
Vour  question  in  some  other  ear; 

I  know  enough  to  keep  my  heart 
Brimful  of  joy  from  year  to  year. 

Chesterfield,  Mass.,  July,  1S75. 


WORKS    AND    DAYS. 


O  break  the  gently  undulating  sea 
With  oars  it  seems  to  fondle  lovingly, 
And  watch  the  eddies  as  they  circle  back 
Along  my  winding  track. 

To  rest  upon  my  oars,  and,  as  I  glide 
With  wind  and  current,  in  the  cooling  tide 
To  dip  my  hands,  while  something  seems  to  say 
Within  me,  "  Let  us  pray." 

As  near  as  may  be  to  the  fringed  shore 
To  keep  my  boat,  and  lean  her  gunnel  o'er, 
Watching  the  many-colored  floor,  untrod 
Save  by  the  feet  of  God. 

His  ways  are  in  the  deep  ;  His  sunlight,  too, 
Pierces  its  deeps  of  shadow  through  and  through, 
And  touches  many  a  wonder  that  abides 
Below  the  lowest  tides. 

3  D 


50  ITORKS  A  XI)   DAYS. 

How  beautiful  the  sunlight  on  the  sea, 
When  waves  by  millions  twinkle  as  in  glee  ! 
But  'tis  the  sunlight  in  the  sea  whose  gleam 
To  me  doth  fairest  seem. 

It  glorifies  the  pebbles  with  its  rays  ; 
It  turns  gray  sand  to  perfect  chrysoprase  ; 
Plays  with  the  amber  tresses  of  the  rocks 
As  with  a  maiden's  locks. 

Anon  in  some  sequestered  nook  I  lie, 
And  see  the  yachts,  white-winged,  go  sailing  by, 
And  feel,  whichever  quickest  onward  flics, 
Mine  is  the  truest  prize. 

I  watch  the  race  with  neither  hope  nor  fear, 
Since  none  than  other  is  to  me  more  dear ; 
My  prize  the  perfect  beauty  of  the  sight,  — 
Unselfish,  pure  delight. 

I  sit  and  wonder  what  the  cliffs  would  say 
If  they  could  speak,  remembering  the  day 
When  first,  "Thus  far,  no  farther,"  it  was  said  ; 
"  I  [ere  thy  proud  waves  be  stayed  !  " 

Since  then  what  laughter  and  what  cry  and  moan 
The  sea  has  offered  up  to  them  alone  ! 
What  suns  have  kissed,  what  storms  have  left  their 
blight! 
What  silence  of  the  night  ! 


WORKS  AND   DAYS.  51 

So  wondering,  how  strange  it  is  and  still, 
Save  where,  a  mile  away,  the  drogers  fill 
Their  battered  dories  with  the  shingly  store 
Of  the  long-hoarding  shore  ! 

That  far-off  sound  is  but  a  gauge  that  tells 
How  deep  the  silence  is  ;  like  Sunday  bells 
Which,  ringing,  tell  the  resting  village  o'er 
How  still  it  was  before. 

These  are  my  works  and  days  :  in  these  I  drown 
The  cares  and  troubles  of  the  noisy  town, 
And  let  it  seethe  and  rumble  as  it  may, 
Day  after  weary  day. 

But  when  the  summer  days  are  sweetly  fled, 
And  great  fall  clouds  go  floating  overhead  ; 
When  asters  lurk  along  the  pleasant  ways 
With  golden-rod  ablaze  ; 

Then  I  will  back  again  to  faces  see 
Than  all  these  sights  more  beautiful  to  me  ; 
Where  friendliest  voices  wait  for  me  to  hear, 
Than  all  these  sounds  more  dear. 

IfARBLEHEAD,    1S7I. 


POEMS    OF    LIFE. 


POEMS     OF     LIFE. 


SADNESS   AND   GLADNESS. 


HERE  was  a  glory  in  my  house, 
And  it  is  fled  ; 
There  was  a  baby  at  my  heart, 
And  it  is  dead. 


And  when  I  sit  and  think  of  him, 

I  am  so  sad, 
That  half  it  seems  that  never  more 

Can  I  be  glad. 

If  you  had  known  this  baby  mine, 

He  was  so  sweet 
You  would  have  gone  a  journey  just 

To  kiss  his  feet. 


He  could  not  walk  a  single  step, 

Nor  speak  a  word  ; 
But  then  he  was  as  blithe  and  gay 

As  any  bird 


56  SADNESS  AND   GLADNESS. 

That  ever  sat  on  orchard-bough, 

And  trilled  its  song, 
Until  the  listener  fancied  it 

As  sweet  and  strong 

As  if  from  lips  of  angels  he 

Had  heard  it  flow  ; 
Such  angels  as  thy  hand  could  paint, 

Angelico  ! 

You  cannot  think  how  many  things 

He  learned  to  know 
Before  the  swift,  swift  angel  came, 

And  bade  him  go  ; 

So  that  my  neighbors  said  of  him, 

He  was  so  wise 
That  he  was  never  meant  for  earth, 

But  for  the  skies. 

But  I  would  not  believe  a  word 

Of  what  they  said  ; 
Nor  will  J,  even  now,  although 

My  boy  is  dead. 

For  God  would  be  most  wicked,  if, 

When  all  the  earth 
Is  in  the  travail  of  a  new 

And  heavenly  birth, 


SADNESS  AND  GLADNESS.  57 

As  often  as  a  little  Christ  is  found 

With  human  breath, 
He,  like  another  Herod,  should  resolve 
Upon  its  death. 

But  should  you  ask  me  how  it  is 

That  yours  can  stay, 
Though  mine  must  spread  his  little  wings 

And  fly  away, 

I  could  but  say,  that  God,  who  made 

This  heart  of  mine, 
Must  have  intended  that  its  love 

Should  be  the  sign 

Of  His  own  love  ;  and  that  if  He 

Can  think  it  right 
To  turn  my  joy  to  sorrow,  and 

My  day  to  night, 

I  cannot  doubt  that  He  will  turn, 

In  other  ways, 
My  winter  darkness  to  the  light 

Of  summer  clays. 

I  know  that  God  gives  nothing  to 

Us  for  a  day  \ 
That  what  He  gives  He  never  cares 

To  take  away. 


58  SADNESS  AND   GLADNESS. 

And  when  He  comes  and  seems  to  make 

( )ur  glory  less, 
It  is  that,  bye-and-bye,  we  may 

The  more  confess 

That  He  has  made  it  brighter  than 

It  was  before,  — 
A  glory  shining  on  and  on 

For  evermore. 

And  when  I  sit  and  think  of  this, 

I  am  so  glad, 
That  half  it  seems  that  never  more 

Can  I  be  sad. 

Brooklyn,  1865. 


V 


TETE-A-TETE.  59 


TETE-A-TETE. 


BIT  of  ground,  a  smell  of  earth, 
A  pleasant  murmur  in  the  trees, 

The  chirp  of  birds,  an  insect's  hum, 
And,  kneeling  on  their  chubby  knees, 


Two  neighbors'  children  at  their  play  : 
Who  has  not  seen  a  hundred  such  ? 

A  head  of  gold,  a  head  of  brown, 
Bending  together  till  they  touch. 


it. 


A  country  school-house  by  the  road, 
A  spicy  scent  of  woods  anear, 

And  all  the  air  with  summer  sounds 
Laden  for  who  may  care  to  hear. 

So  care  not  two,  a  boy  and  girl, 

Who  stay  when  all  the  rest  are  gone, 

Solving  a  problem  deeper  far 

Than  one  they  seem  intent  upon. 


60  TETE-A-TETE. 

Dear  hearts,  of  course  they  do  not  know 

How  near  their  heads  together  lean. 
The  bee  that  wanders  through  the  room 

Has  hardly  space  to  go  between. 


in. 

Now  darker  is  the  head  of  brown, 
The  head  of  gold  is  brighter  now, 

And  lines  of  deeper  thought  and  life 
Are  written  upon  either  brow. 

The  sense  that  thrilled  their  being  through 
With  nameless  longings  vast  and  dim 

Has  found  a  voice,  has  found  a  name, 
And  where  he  goes  she  follows  him. 

Again  their  heads  are  bending  near. 
And  bending  down  in  silent  awe 

Above  a  morsel  pure  and  sweet, 
A  miracle  of  love  and  law. 

How  often  shall  their  heads  be  bowed 
With  joy  or  grief,  with  love  and  pride, 

As  waxeth  strong  that  feeble  life, 
( )r  slowly  ebbs  its  falling  tide  ! 


TETE-A-TltTE.  6 1 


1875 


IV. 


A  seaward  hill  where  lie  the  dead 

In  dreamless  slumber  deep  and  calm  ; 
Above  their  graves  the  roses  bloom, 

And  all  the  air  is  full  of  balm. 

They  do  not  smell  the  roses  sweet  ; 

They  do  not  see  the  ships  that  go 
Along  the  far  horizon's  edge  ; 

They  do  not  feel  the  breezes  blow. 

Here  loving  hands  have  gently  laid 
The  neighbors'  children,  girl  and  boy, 

And  man  and  wife  ;  head  close  to  head 
They  sleep,  and  know  nor  pain  nor  joy. 


62  THE   GATE    CALLED   BEAUTIFUL. 


THE   GATE   CALLED    BEAUTIFUL. 


"  And  they  brought  a  man,  lame  from  his  birth,  and  laid  him  daily  at  the  gate 
of  the  temple  which  is  called  Beautiful." 


AME  from  his  birth  \  and  who  is  not  as  much, 
Though  in  his  body  he  be  stout  and  strong ; 
And  in  his  mind  an  athlete  for  the  truth  ; 
In  conscience,  too,  a  giant  against  wrong  ? 


For  who  that  guesses  what  a  man  may  be, 
In  all  his  powers  and  graces  how  divine, 

And  then  bethinks  him  of  the  thing  he  is,  — 
So  far  below  that  glory,  God,  of  thine,  — 

Though  he  were  greatest  of  the  sons  of  men, 

"  Why  callest  thou  me  good  ?  "  he  still  would  say  • 

And  all  the  heights  already  won  would  point 
To  higher  peaks  along  the  heavenly  way. 

Lame  from  our  birth  ;  and  daily  we  arc  brought, 
And  at  the  gate  called  Beautiful  arc  laid: 

Sometimes  its  wonder  makes  us  free  and  glad  ; 
Sometimes  its  grandeur  makes  us  half  afraid. 


THE   GATE   CALLED  BEAUTIFUL.  63 

The  gate  called  Beautiful  \  and  yet  methinks 
No  word  can  name  it  that  begins  to  tell 

How  soar  its  pillars  to  the  highest  heavens, 
And  how  their  roots  take  hold  on  lowest  hell. 

With  what  designs  its  panels  are  inwrought, 

O'ertraced  with  flowers  and  hills  and  shining  seas, 

And  glorified  by  rise  and  set  of  suns, 

And  Junes  of  blossom  and  October  trees  ! 

So  beautiful,  yet  never  quite  the  same  ! 

The  pictures  change  with  every  changing  hour ; 
Or  sweeter  things  come  stealing  into  view, 

Which  stronger  things  had  hidden  by  their  power. 

There  all  the  stars  and  systems  go  their  way ; 

There  shines  the  moon  so  tender  in  her  grace ; 
And  there,  than  moon  or  star  or  sun  more  fair, 

The  blessed  wonder  of  the  human  face. 

Faces  and  faces  !  some  of  children  sweet ; 

And  some  of  maidens  fresh  and  pure  and  true ; 
And  some  that  lovelier  are  at  evening  time 

Than  any  can  be  while  the  years  are  few. 

This  is  the  gate  called  Beautiful ;  it  swings 
To  music  sweeter  than  was  heard  that  day 

When  St.  Cecilia,  rapt  in  ecstasy, 

Heard  through  her  trance  the  angelic  roundelay. 


64  Till-:   GATE   CALLED   BEAUTIFUL. 

Music  of  little  children  at  their  play; 

Of  mothers  hushing  them  to  sleep  and  dreams; 
Of  all  the  birds  that  sing  in  all  the  trees, 
( )f  all  the  murmuring  of  all  the  streams. 

And  at  this  gate,  not  at  wide  intervals, 

Are  we,  lame  from  our  birth,  laid  tenderly, 

But  daily;  and  not  one  day  passes  by 
And  we  look  not  upon  this  mystery. 

Gate  of  the  Temple  ?  surely  it  is  that ! 

It  opens  not  into  vacuity  ; 
For  all  its  beauty,  it  is  not  so  fair 

But  that  a  greater  beauty  there  can  be. 

Thy  beauty,  O  my  Father !     All  is  Thine  ; 

But  there  is  beauty  in  Thyself,  from  whence 
The  beauty  Thou  hast  made  doth  ever  flow 

In  streams  of  never-failing  affluence. 

Thou  art  the  Temple  !  and  though  I  am  lame, — 
Lame  from  my  birth,  and  shall  be  till  I  die,  — 

I  enter  through  the  gate  called  Beautiful, 

And  am  alone  with  Thee,  O  Thou  Most  High  ! 


1872. 


REAL   AND   IDEAL.  65 


REAL   AND    IDEAL. 

00 KING  athwart  the  valley's  cleft, 
Where  nestles  many  a  cosey  farm 
Beside  the  stream  whose  music  low 
For  ever  keeps  its  ancient  charm, 

For  one  I  love,  who,  young  and  gay, 
Full  often  wandered  by  its  side, 

Floating  his  wayward  fancies  down 
To  the  great  sea  upon  its  tide,  — 


Looking  through  dreamy,  half-shut  eyes 
Across  to  where  the  shining  mist 

Bathed  all  the  woods  and  uplands  dim 
With  purple  and  with  amethyst, 

I  said,  Why  do  we  linger  thus 

Where  all  is  sharp  and  bright  and  clear  ? 
Seek  we  the  pleasant  land  beyond, 

And  taste  of  its  enchantments  dear. 


66  REAL   AND  IDEAL. 

Agreed  ;  and  soon  our  faithful  grays 
Were  pjunging  down  the  hill-side  steep, 

Where  over  lichen-crinkled  walls 

The  tangled  thickets  nod  and  creep  ; 

And  past  the  spring  that  trickles  down 

Through  ledges  thick  with  brush  and  furze, 

Where  aspens  show  their  silver  pomp 
And  chestnuts  drop  their  prickly  burrs  ; 

And  o'er  the  little  rattling  bridge 

That  spans  the  pebbly,  murmurous  stream, 

And  on  into  the  land  that  seemed 
The  mystic  shadow  of  a  dream. 

And  what  to  find  ?     The  smell  of  hay 

New-mown,  and  gleam  of  mowers'  scythes, 

And  purple  milkweed  hardly  seen 
For  troops  of  golden  butterflies  j 

And  many  a  pleasant  upland  farm, 
And  many  a  sun-browned  little  maid, 

And  patient  cattle  half  asleep 

In  many  a  maple's  plenteous  shade  ; 

All  this  and  more;  but  here  nor  there 

One  atom  of  the  tender  mist 
That,  from  afar,  had  clothed  the  land 

With  purple  and  with  amethyst. 


A    VINDICATION.  67 

But  looking  backward  to  the  hills 
Which  we  had  left  an  hour  before, 

Behold  the  charm  we  came  to  seek 
Was  there  !      Down-folded  softly  o'er 

Each  dear  familiar  place  it  lay,  — 

The  violet-tinted  mystic  haze  ; 
And  there  had  lain,  hour  after  hour, 

Through  the  long,  sweet,  mid-summer  days  5 

While  we,  in  all  its  splendor  clad, 

In  Tyrian  dyes  right  royally, 
Had  deemed  that  we  must  seek  afar 

Its  perfect  grace  and  mystery. 

Chesterfield,  Mass.,  July  19,  1S76. 


A   VINDICATION. 


HOU  art  not  proud  because  thou  art  so 
beautiful. 
'Tis  falsely  said.     Thou  art  but  glad  of  heart 
To  feel  thy  glorious  beauty  is  a  part 
Of  all  the  beauty  that  is  anywhere, 
On  land  or  sea  or  in  the  gleaming  air  : 
Such  gladness  is  less  proud  than  dutiful. 


1876. 


68  111 E    OVER-SOUL. 


THE   OVER-SOUL. 

DLING  one  day  in  June,  my  aimless  feet, 

Forbidden,  crossed  the  threshold  of  that  fane 

By  grateful  Harvard  built  for  her  dear  slain, 

Whom  Freedom  counted  for  her  service  meet. 


Above  me  rose  the  glorious  sheaf  of  towers, 
As  on  the  snowy  tablets,  slow,  I  read 
The  names  of  all  the  generous-hearted  dead, 

Who  were  our  chivalry's  most  perfect  flowers. 

There  were  the  names  of  men  whom  all  the  land 
Hailed  as  the  greatest  in  those  dreadful  days  ; 
There,  too,  their  names  whose  only  meed  of  praise 

Was  the  deep  sense  of  doing  God's  command. 

And  one  I  read,  which  oft  1  used  to  speak 

In  loving-wise,  as  friend  doth  speak  with  friend  : 
Brave,  ardent  spirit!  wheresoever  tend 

Thy  restless  feet,  thou  dost  the  highest  seek. 


THE   OVER-SOUL.  69 

And,  as  I  gazed,  with  dimmer  sight  I  saw 
Upon  rude  stagings  high  above  my  head 
The  workmen  painting  words  that  shall  be  read 

Through  countless  years  of  Liberty  and  Law;  — 

Resounding  words  of  that  melodious  tongue 
Which  still  doth  with  the  pomp  of  Virgil  swell ; 
But  nought  of  all  their  meaning  could  they  tell, 

Who  on  the  wall  their  various  colors  flung. 

And  some  there  were  who  worked  in  sombre  hues, 
While  others  bravely  did  illuminate 
With  red  and  gold  some  word  of  greater  weight ; 

But  all  alike  the  meaning  all  did  lose. 

Behold,  I  thought,  a  parable  of  those 

Whose  names  are  graven  on  these  tablets  cold ; 
They  did  their  work,  yet  little  could  have  told 

Of  meanings  vast  which  only  Heaven  knows. 

Behold,  I  thought,  a  parable  of  all 

Who  do  men's  work  upon  this  mortal  strand  ; 

Great  meanings  which  they  cannot  understand, 
They  paint  and  grave  on  Time's  memorial  wall. 

There  are  who  work  in  colors  dull  and  cold  ; 

There  are  who  work  in  characters  of  flame  : 

It  matters  not,  the  glory  is  the  same  ; 
For  only  thus  the  tale  is  fitly  told, 


7°  INSIGHT, 

Which  He  can  read  who  builds  all  seas  above, 
So  strong  that  nothing  can  destroy  or  mar, 
In  every  sun,  in  every  circling  star, 

The  everlasting  temple  of  His  love. 

Cambridge,  1S74. 


INSIGHT. 


HAT  I  know  best,  I  know  not  why  I  know  : 
"  Show  me  the  Father,"  inwardly  I  cried  ; 
lg]       And  one  that  walked  long  since  by  Jordan's 
side 
Said,  "  Even  I  the  Father's  goodness  show." 
I  doubt  it  not ;  but  as  my  way  I  go, 
And  ever  in  his  Father's  peace  abide, 
I  ponder  well  the  word  that  he  replied, 
And  ask  myself,  "  If  so,  why  is  it  so  ?  " 
Why  if  I  do  not  know  by  deeper  sense 

Than  I  can  fathom  with  my  plummet-thought, 
That  God's  love  must  be  ever  more  intense 

Than  any  love  that  man  has  over  wrought? 
Why  it  must  be,  in  vain  I  strive  to  tell  : 
I  know  it  is,  and  know  that  all  is  well. 


1872. 


CARPE   DIEM. 


7' 


CARPE    DIEM. 


SOUL  of  mine,  how  few  and  short  the  years 
Ere  thou  shalt  go  the  way  of  all  thy  kind, 
And  here  no  more  thy  joy  or  sorrow  find 
At  any  fount  of  happiness  or  tears  ! 
Yea,  and  how  soon  shall  all  that  thee  endears 
To  any  heart  that  beats  with  love  for  thee 
Be  everywhere  forgotten  utterly, 
With  all  thy  loves  and  joys,  and  hopes  and  fears  ! 
But,  O  my  soul,  because  these  things  are  so, 
Be  thou  not  cheated  of  to-day's  delight. 
When  the  night  cometh,  it  may  well  be  night ; 
Now  it  is  day.     See  that  no  minute's  glow 
Of  all  the  shining  hours  unheeded  goes  ; 
No  fount  of  rightful  joy  by  thee  untasted  flows. 


1S76. 


72 


Till-:   ONE    TRUE   CHRIST. 


THE   ONE   TRUE   CHRIST. 


0,  here  !  "  they  cry,  "  Lo,  here  !  "  "  Lo,  there  !  " 
Each  certain  that  he  knows  the  place 
Where  lie  reveals  his  presence  fair, 
The  matchless  beauty  of  his  face. 


And  so  again  I  travel  o'er, 

In  ever  vain  and  fruitless  search, 

The  barren  fields  where  oft  before 
I  sought  in  vain  the  one  true  Church. 

The  Christ  which  here  demands  my  vow 
Is  not  the  one  which  there  appears  j 

These  to  a  shape  of  terror  bow. 
Those  have  their  images  of  fear. 


And  ever  where  the  creeds  abide, 

And  where  the  priestly  foot  has  trod, 

I  find  more  faith  in  one  who  died 
Than  in  the  ever  -living  God. 


THE    OXE    TRUE    CHRIST.  7$ 

Forget,  my  soul,  the  noisy  street, 

The  priest  that  mumbles  at  his  shrine  ; 

For  thee  the  scholar's  calm  retreat, 
For  thee  the  Christ  of  critics  fine. 

Alas  !  the  wise  men  do  not  kneel 

To-day,  as  in  the  days  of  old, 
And  at  the  self-same  altar  yield 

Their  gifts  more  precious  far  than  gold. 

One  says  that  Matthew's  simple  tale 

Contains  the  image  that  I  seek ; 
Another,  that  I  cannot  fail 

To  find  him  where  the  mystic  Greek, 

Incarnate  in  the  mind  of  John, 

Made  strange  the  great  Apostle's  speech, 
And  placed  the  well-beloved  Son 

For  ever  out  of  human  reach. 

Another  thinks  with  glorious  Paul 
That  Christ  a  spirit  was,  —  a  life  \ 

That  charity  is  more  than  all, 
And  worse  than  vanity  the  strife 

Of  those  that  cry,  "  I  am  of  Paul !  " 
And  those  that  shout,  "  Of  Cephas  I !  " 

Forgetting  that  we  stand  or  fall 

By  faith  in  Love  as  God  most  High. 
4 


74  '/HE    ONE    TRUE    CHRIST. 

And  still  another  thinks  that  he 
The  Christ  of  the  Apocalypse, 

Returning  out  of  heaven,  shall  see, 

With  vengeance  breathing  from  His  lips. 

The  one  true  Christ  I  seek  in  vain  ; 

The  Church  of  now,  the  Bible  old, 
Are  dumb  in  answer  to  my  pain  • 

The  Fathers'  hearts  have  long  been  cold. 

But,  in  his  written  words,  I  see 
Great  Origen  his  forehead  lean 

Upon  a  Christ  that  cannot  be 

The  Christ  that  haunted  Augustine. 

Then  speaks  my  heart  within  my  breast, 
Which  from  the  first  had  made  its  moan 

That  I  should  be  so  ill  at  rest, 
And  feel  myself  so  much  alone  : 

"  Why  longer  urge  thy  fruitless  search  ? 

The  one  true  Christ  thou  shalt  not  find 
Until  thou  seek  him  in  his  Church, 

All  beautiful,  within  thy  mind. 

"  His  temple  is  the  human  soul  : 
He  dwelleth  ever  more  within; 
The:  harmonics  of  heaven  roll 

For  him  whose  life  is  free  from  sin. 


THE    ONE    TRUE   CHRIST.  75 

"  Be  free  from  foolish  hates  and  fears, 

The  love  of  ease,  the  love  of  pelf, 
And  all  the  Christs  of  all  the  years 

Shall  lead  thee  nearer  to  thyself. 

"  The  highest  word  that  is  for  thee 

Awaits  thee  in  no  distant  land ; 
Thy  deepest  mood  shall  ever  be 

By  thee  obeyed  as  God's  command. 

"  Not  farther  off,  but  farther  in,  — 

Such  is  the  nature  of  thy  quest ; 
They  heaven  find  who  heaven  win, 

The  one  true  Christ  is  in  thy  breast." 


;6 


GIFTS  IN  SLEEP. 


GIFTS    IN    SLEEP. 


UR  sweet  boy-baby  had  a  gift, 

A  home-made  rabbit,  soft  and  white  ; 
By  day,  by  night,  awake,  asleep, 
It  evermore  was  his  delight. 


Beauty  and  use  could  not  agree, 

It  lost  its  whiteness  more  and  more  ; 

It  lost  its  tail,  it  lost  its  ears  : 
He  loved  it  better  than  before. 


And  still  the  grimy  little  heap 

He  tucked  beneath  his  dainty  chin  ; 

And  still  to  bed  without  his  pet 
Was  sure  to  brew  a  dreadful  din. 

Nightly  we  found  his  rosy  check 

Against  his  battered  darling  pressed. 

A  vote  was  passed  :  when  Christmas  came, 
He  should  of  it  be  dispossessed, 


GIFTS  IN  SLEEP.  77 

And  in  its  place,  at  dead  of  night, 

Another  should  be  slyly  placed, 
With  coat  of  down  as  snowy  white 

As  a  wee  rabbit  ever  graced. 

The  deed  was  done.     Not  without  tears 

We  took  the  dear  old  pet  away, 
And  wrapped  it  up  and  marked  it  plain, 

To  keep  against  some  distant  day, 

When,  haply,  to  some  boy  of  his 

He  might  the  frowzy  relic  show, 
For  proof  that  he  was  true  in  love 

Some  five-and-twenty  years  ago. 

Where  lay  the  old  we  laid  the  new, 
And  waited  for  the  Christmas  morn, 

As  wait  a  hundred  million  hearts 

For  the  dear  time  when  Christ  was  born. 

It  came  at  length,  and  baby  woke, 

To  clutch  his  precious  liebling  fast  \  — 

It  was  the  same,  yet  not  the  same  ! 

Its  squalor  with  the  night  had  passed  ! 

He  looked  at  first  with  dubious  face, 
But  soon  resolved  that  all  was  right ; 

So  cuddled  it  the  livelong  day, 

And  pressed  it  to  his  cheek  at  night. 


7 3  GIFTS  IN  SLEEP. 

And  then  I  thought,  '  Tis  writ  "  He  gives 
To  His  beloved  while  they  sleep  ;  " 

And  deeper  meanings  found  me  out, 
While  lay  my  boy  in  slumbers  deep. 


II. 


Children  of  larger  growth,  God  gives 
To  us  His  gifts  from  day  to  day,  — 

His  gifts  of  thought,  His  gifts  of  will,  — 
And  how  we  fritter  them  away  ! 

We  soil  them  like  the  baby's  pet ; 

We  grovel  with  them  in  the  mire  ; 
And  then  we  sleep  ;  and  while  we  sleep, 

Sing  heavenly  voices,  "  Come  up  higher." 

New  every  morn,  fresh  every  eve, 
The  promise  runs,  and  faileth  not ; 

When  we  awake,  we  are  with  Him 
Whose  promises  are  ne'er  forgot. 

From  weary  mind  and  conscience  dim. 
Sleep  clears  the  blurring  films  away  ; 

We  may  have  erred,  we  may  have  sinned, 
But  life  is  new  with  every  daw 


A    SO  AG    OF   TA'C/ST. 


79 


He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep : 

Oh,  joy  to  troubled  hearts  and  sore  ! 

And,  while  they  sleep,  —  oh,  deeper  joy  !  — 
He  gives  them  strength  to  reach  that  shore 
Whence  they  may  never  wander  more. 


1873. 


A    SONG   OF   TRUST. 


LOVE  Divine,  of  all  that  is 
The  sweetest  still  and  best, 

Fain  would  I  come  and  rest  to-night 
Upon  Thy  tender  breast. 

As  tired  of  sin  as  any  child 

Was  ever  tired  of  play, 
When  evening's  hush  has  folded  in 

The  noises  of  the  day  ; 

When  just  for  very  weariness 

The  little  one  will  creep 
Into  the  arms  that  have  no  joy 

Like  holding  him  in  sleep ; 

And  looking  upward  to  Thy  face, 

So  gentle,  sweet  and  strong 
In  all  its  looks  for  those  who  love, 

So  pitiful  of  wrong, 


80  a   SONG   OF  TRUST. 

I  pray  Thee  turn  me  not  away, 

For,  sinful  though  I  be, 
Thou  knowest  every  thing  I  need 

And  all  my  need  of  Thee. 

And  yet  the  spirit  in  my  heart 
Say^,  Wherefore  should  I  pray 

That  Thou  shouldst  seek  me  with  Thy  love, 
Since  Thou  dost  seek  alway  ? 

And  dost  not  even  wait  until 

I  urge  my  steps  to  Thee  ; 
But  in  the  darkness  of  my  life 

Art  coming  still  to  me. 

I  pray  not,  then,  because  I  would  ; 

I  pray  because  I  must ; 
There  is  no  meaning  in  my  prayer 

But  thankfulness  and  trust. 

I  would  not  have  Thee  otherwise 

Than  what  Thou  ever  art; 
Be  still  Thyself,  and  then  I  know 

We  cannot  live  apart. 

But  still  Thy  love  will  beckon  me 
And  still  Thy  strength  will  come, 

In  many  ways  to  bear  me  up 
And  bring  me  to  my  home. 


[865. 


A    SONG    OF   TRUST.  8 1 

And  Thou  wilt  hear  the  thought  I  mean, 

And  not  the  words  I  say  ; 
Wilt  hear  the  thanks  among  the  words 

That  only  seem  to  pray ; 

As  if  Thou  wert  not  always  good, 

As  if  Thy  loving  care 
Could  ever  miss  me  in  the  midst 

Of  this  Thy  temple  fair. 

For,  if  I  ever  doubted  Thee, 

How  could  I  any  more  ! 
This  very  night  my  tossing  bark 

Has  reached  the  happy  shore  ; 

And  still,  for  all  my  sighs,  my  heart 

Has  sung  itself  to  rest, 
O  Love  Divine,  most  far  and  near, 

Upon  Thy  tender  breast. 


RECOGNITION. 
RECOGNITION. 

"  They  shall  all  know  me." 


S  closely  to  my  heart  this  morn 
I  held  the  little  child, 
That  lately  came  to  me  from  God, 
So  sweet  and  undefiled,  — 


Bending  above  her  little  face 

As  though  it  were  a  book, 
In  which  to  know  that  God  is  good 

I  needed  but  to  look,  — 

Up  to  my  eyes  she  turned  her  own, 

In  such  a  wondrous  way, 
That  I  shall  be  a  happier  man 

Henceforward  from  this  day. 

For  not  more  plainly,  if  in  words 
She  could  her  meaning  tell, 

Could  she  declare  her  message  sweet, 
"  Father,  I  know  you  well !  " 


RECOGNITION.  83 

O  recognition  more  divine 

Than  lovers'  looks  of  love, 
When  first  they  know  the  will  of  God 

And  all  His  goodness  prove  ! 

O  recognition  more  divine 

Than  words  of  mine  can  say ! 
What  have  I  done,  O  God,  that  Thou 

Shouldst  bless  me  so  alway  ? 

Into  the  face  of  death,  to-day, 

I  could  have  looked  and  smiled, 
And  said,  "  Come  take  me,  for  I've  had 

A  message  from  my  child." 


O  men  and  women,  if  a  man, 

Because  his  little  child 
Has  looked  for  once  into  his  face 

And  said,  or  rather  smiled, 

"  O  father  mine,  I  know  you  well !  " 

Has  known  so  deep  a  joy, 
What  think  you  must  be  felt  in  heaven  ? 

What  bliss,  without  alloy, 


£>4  RECOGXITIOX. 

Must  fill  our  heavenly  Father's  heart 
When  first  His  children  know 

That  they  are  born  of  Him,  and  more 
Like  Him  must  ever  grow  ? 

O  recognition  sweet  enough 

For  angel  lips  to  sing, 
When  first  this  living  sacrifice 

Into  His  courts  we  bring  ; 

When  first,  it  may  be  through  the  tears 
That  on  our  eyelids  shine, 

We  dare  look  up  and  say  to  Him, 
"  Dear  Father,  Thou  art  mine  !  " 

And  shall  we  taste  a  joy  so  sweet 
With  children  He  has  given, 

And  then  not  do  our  part  to  make 
Him  happy  in  His  heaven  ? 

January,  1S6S. 


'J$ 


wr 


WJ/V  THIS   WASTE 


"WHY   THIS    WASTE? 


Sp^jHAT  eyes  which  pierced  our  inmost  being 
through  ; 


That  lips  which  pressed  into  a  single  kiss. 
It  seemed,  a  whole  eternity  of  bliss ; 

That  cheeks  which  mantled  with  love's  rosy  hue  ■ 

That  feet  which  wanted  nothing  else  to  do' 
But  run  upon  love's  errands,  this  and  this  : 
That  hands  so  fair  they  had  not  seemed  am 

Reached  down  by  angels  through  the  deeps  of  blue  ;- 

rI  hat  all  of  these  so  deep  in  earth  should  lie 

While  season  after  season  passeth  I 

That  things  which  are  so  sacred  and  so  sweet 
The  hungry  roots  of  tree  and  plant  should  eat ! 

Oh  for  one  hour  to  see  as  Thou  dost  see. 

My  God,  how  great  the  recompense  must  be  ! 

1874 


86  THE   GREATEST   WONDER. 


THE   GREATEST   WONDER. 


:  O  pleasantly  the  fleeting  days  go  by, 

So  much  they  bring  of  bliss  without  alloy, 
So  much  to  give  my  thought  and  will  employ, 
Whether  upon  the  fragrant  turf  I  lie, 
With  face  upturned  and  watch  some  argosy, 
Of  white-sailed  clouds,  freighted  with  summer  joy, 
Or  track  the  fancies  that,  on  wings  more  coy 
Than  shyest  bird's,  explore  a  deeper  sky, 
Or  converse  hold  with  whom  I  love  the  best,  — 

The  greatest  wonder  that  my  spirit  knows 
Is  —  that  with  so  much  gone  I  am  so  bless'd  ? 

Ah,  no  !     But  from  this  thought  it  ever  flows : 
How  could  my  heart  contain  its  vast  delight, 
If  my  lost  saints  were  with  me  here  to-night  ? 

1875. 


PEGASUS  IN  HARNESS.  87 


PEGASUS    IN    HARNESS. 


[[EAR,  noble  friend,  it  seems  almost  a  wrong 
That  thou  shouldst  give  thy  long  laborious 

days 

To  tasks  that  win  no  generous  meed  of  praise, 
When  at  thy  bidding  myriad  shapes  would  throng 
About  thee,  and  the  world  should  know  ere  lone 

o 

How  rare  thy  power  in  many  gracious  ways 

To  paint  the  wonder  of  our  heritage 
In  language  sweeter  far  than  poet's  song. 
But,  if  thou  dost  not  murmur,  why  should  we  ? 

At  least  we  know  thee  for  the  man  thou  art ; 

And  if  thou  carest  not  to  take  thy  part 
Of  what  the  world  would  give  so  willingly 

Neither  dost  thou  the  least  temptation  feel 

To  mar  for  gain  thy  loftiest  ideal. 


1S74. 


8S  "WATER   AND    THE   SPIRIT: 


WATER   AND   THE   SPIRIT. 

Written  for  the  baptism  of  a  little  child. 


(^(p^SHEN  summer  clouds  distil 

I '  \7\Ml       ^ie  sweetness  °f  tne  ram> 
l^gKggil  What  various  work  it  finds  to  do 
Ere  it  goes  back  again  ! 

It  feeds  the  mountain  rills 
As  they  go  hurrying  down  ; 

It  cools  the  pavements,  hot  as  flame, 
In  the  deserted  town. 

It  tinkles  day  and  night 

In  fountains  silver  clear, 
Tempting  the  little  birds  to  come 

And  make  their  toilet  near. 

About  the  roots  of  flowers 
And  the  great  roots  of  trees, 

It  lingereth  as  tenderly 
As  saint  upon  his  knees. 


"WATER   AND    THE   SPIRIT."  89 

And  many  a  thirsty  soul 

Its  limpid  sweetness  quaffs, 
And  when  the  farmer  smells  the  rain 

How  merrily  he  laughs  ! 

O  rain  that  comes  from  Heaven  ! 

The  life  that  comes  from  God, 
Ere  it  returns,  more  paths  than  thine 

Shall  wonderingly  have  trod. 

On  mountain  and  on  plain 

This  has  a  work  to  do, 
A  joy  to  get,  a  joy  to  give, 

That  cannot  be  for  you. 

This  shall  have  rills  to  feed, 

And  cool  the  heated  ways  ; 
This  too  shall  bubble,  fountainwise, 

For  many  pleasant  days. 

And  this  where  all  is  dark, 

As  it  were  underground, 
Shall  nurse  the  hidden  roots  of  power 

With  never  voice  or  sound. 

And  this  for  those  who  thirst, 

All  tired  and  sore  of  feet, 
Must  be  the  cup  of  water  cold 

For  His  disciple  meet. 


90  BAPTISMAL. 

O  child,  so  fresh  from  heaven, 
What  omens  sweet  and  grand 

Run  up  to  kiss  thy  tiny  feet 
Like  waves  upon  the  sand  ! 

Wave-omens,  kiss  and  kiss  ; 

Our  hearts  accept  you  all, 
And  dare  believe  more  blessings  wait 

Than  we  have  words  to  call. 

Brooklyn,  1873. 

BAPTISMAL. 


HIS  little  child  whom  I  to-day 
Baptize  with  water  clear, 
And  dedicate  with  solemn  vows 
To  all  most  high  and  dear, 


It  is  for  you,  dear  friends,  to  take, 

And  in  a  holier  way 
To  re-baptize  with  tenderest  love 

And  care  from  day  to  day. 

For  him  may  friendship  twine  her  wreath, 

And  love  his  rosy  chain, 
And  conscience  seal  him  to  herself, 

Whate'er  the  loss  and  pain. 


BAPTISMAL.  91 

For  him  may  deep  baptismal  wells 

Of  joy  serenely  flow  ; 
But  do  not  pray  that  he  the  power 

Of  sorrow  may  not  know ; 

But  rather  that  through  light  and  dark, 

Alike  through  peace  and  pain, 
He,  toiling  up,  the  shining  peaks 

Of  righteousness  may  gain. 

So  shall  your  joy  in  him  be  great, 

And  so  the  pledge,  you  give 
To  God  this  day,  shall  be  redeemed, 

And  he  shall  truly  live. 

And  the  name  which  you  have  given  him 

Shall  be  an  honored  name, 
And  men  shall  mention  it  with  love, 

Which  better  is  than  fame. 


1868. 


9-2  THE  HARBOR-LIGHTS. 


THE    HARBOR-LIGHTS. 

UST  at  the  harbor's  mouth  she  stood  • 
Behind  her  was  the  beacon  white, 
Which  sends  its  kindly  warning  forth 
From  evening  shade  till  morning  light. 


Above  her  was  the  golden  sun  ; 

More  golden  shone  her  tossing  hair ; 
The  ocean's  azure,  at  her  feet, 

With  her  blue  eyes  could  not  compare. 

Full  sheer  the  cliff  whereon  she  stood, 

And,  though  her  eyes  were  downward  cast, 

I  still  could  row  my  boat  anear 
And  see  their  glory  as  I  passed. 

Patiently  there  she  watched  her  line, 
That  sank  among  the  golden  weed. 

"Who  would  not  be  a  fish,"  thought  I, 

"  By  such  sweet  hands  if  doomed  to  bleed  ? 


THE  HARBOR-LIGHTS.  93 

Sweet  hands,  but  browner  than  the  rock 

Whereon  her  pretty  feet  had  place  \ 
Which,  browner  yet,  laid  hold  of  it 

With  naked  purity  and  grace. 

One  day  I  dared  to  speak  to  her : 

"  What  have  you  caught  to-day,  my  dear  ? " 

"  Nothing  but  just  a  thought  or  two  ; 

More  thoughts  than  fish  come  swimming  here." 

"  And  have  you  caught  this  thought,  my  dear, 

That  I  love  you  and  you  love  me  ?  " 
I  dared  not  speak  the  question  out  • 

Such  joy  as  that  might  never  be. 

So  every  day  I  pass  her  by, 

But  cannot  bring  my  lips  to  say  : 
"  My  heart  is  caught  upon  your  hook, 

And  cannot  tear  itself  awray." 

Why  should  I  speak  ?     She  would  not  slip 

From  off  the  rocks  into  my  boat, 
And  say,  "  As  thus  for  evermore 

Let  us  together  sit  and  float." 

She  would  not  love,  —  'tis  not  her  time  ; 

But  naught  that  she  can  do  or  say 
Can  rob  me  of  my  right  divine 

To  love  and  worship  her  alway. 


94  THE   HEART  OE  IT 

O  maiden  at  the  harbor's  mouth  ! 

By  day,  with  their  distracting  light, 
Your  eves  will  wreck  more  venturous  hearts 

Than  ever  beacon  saved  by  night. 
1S72. 


THE    HEART   OF   IT. 

Written  upon  finding  at  West  Point  a  blue-bird's  nest  in  an  unfilled  bombshell. 

SUMMER'S  day  in  leafy  June  ; 
The  birds  were  all  in  sweetest  tune, 

The  roses  at  their  best  ; 
But  fairest  of  all  things  to  see, 
That  perfect  day  in  June  for  me, 

A  blue-bird's  peaceful  nest. 

I  found  it  in  a  hollow  shell 

Which  crowned,  as  I  remember  well, 

A  shapely  pyramid  ; 
Five  little  eggs  were  also  there, 
Blue  as  the  sky  when  'tis  most  fair, 

I  lalf  in  the  grasses  hid. 

O  favored  shell  !  whose  kindred  went 
On  cruel  errands  to  be  sent, 

To  mutilate  and  kill  ; 
Whilst  thou,  removed  from  all  the  strife, 
Dost  feel  with  love  and  dawning  life 

Thy  bosom  gently  thrill. 


THE  HEART  OF  IT.  95 

I  said,  "  This  thing  which  here  I  see 
Shall  be  a  precious  prophecy 

Of  what  the  world  shall  win, 
When  all  the  days  of  war  shall  cease, 
And  all  the  blessed  years  of  peace 

Shall  gloriously  begin." 

And  better  yet :  peace  after  war 
Hath  many  an  ugly  rent  and  scar 

For  time  to  smooth  away  ; 
But  peace  in  war  doth  not  await 
A  blessing  coming  slow  and  late,  — 

Its  blessing  is  to-day. 

My  bird's-nest  in  the  hollow  shell, 
A  heaven  miniature  in  hell, 

Shall  symbol  be  of  this  : 
That  in  and  through  and  over  all, 
Whatever  seeming  curse  befall, 

God's  love  for  ever  is. 


He  doth  not  wait  till  war  is  done, 
And  all  its  barren  victories  won, 

To  enter  at  the  door  ; 
But  in  the  furnace  of  the  strife 
He  bears  for  aye  a  charmed  life, 

And  blesses  evermore. 


9&  PSYCHE. 

Deep  at  the  heart  of  all  our  pain, 
In  loss  as  surely  as  in  gain, 

His  love  abideth  still. 
Let  come  what  will,  my  feet  shall  stand 
On  this  firm  rock  at  His  right  hand  : 

"Father,  it  is  Thy  will." 
June,  IS67. 


PSYCHE. 


WEET  story,  told  so  many  times, 
But  never  told  so  well  before, 
J   As  in  these  tender,  simple  rhymes 
Which  here,  so  crlad,  I  linger  o'er. 


How  must  the  bards  of  old  rejoice 
To  hear  their  favorite  tale  retold 

Here  in  this  "  Earthly  Paradise," 
And  by  such  lips  of  purest  gold  ! 

I  lay  the  cherished  volume  down, 
And  while  the  firelight's  ruddy  glow 

Mingles  with  all  that  old  renown, 
I  let  the  fancies  come  and  go. 

O  Psyche  mine,  I  muse,  in  this 

So  sweet  a  tale  of  ancient  days, 
A  lesson  lurks  for  thee,  I  wis, 

Which,  heeded  well,  shall  bring  thee  praise. 


PSYCHE.  97 

Heed  thou  not  those  who  ask  of  thee, 
"  Hast  seen  the  God  thou  dost  adore  ? " 

"  Nay  ?     Then  perchance  no  God  is  He, 
Nor  one  whom  thou  shouldst  bow  before." 

Heed  thou  not  these  :  by  faith,  not  sight, 

Thy  God  of  Love  is  also  known. 
He  also  comes  to  thee  by  night, 

And  whispers,  "Thou  art  mine  alone. " 

Thou  knowest  well  His  voice  benign  ; 

What  joy  and  comfort  He  can  bring; 
By  inward  sense  thou  dost  divine 

His  Godhead,  by  no  outward  thing. 

"  O  God  !  my  God  !  "  the  spirit  cries  ; 

"  My  joy,  my  peace  beyond  compare  ; 
Not  to  be  seen  with  curious  eyes, 

Still  to  confess  Thy  name  I  dare. 

"  Enough,  this  secret  inmost  sense, 

Yea,  better  far  than  outward  sign  ; 
I  know  not  how,  or  where,  or  whence, 

And  still  I  know  that  Thou  art  mine." 


1S70. 


98  THE    TRYSTING-PLACE. 


THE   TRYSTING-PLACE. 

"  Canst  thou  by  searching  find  out  God  ?  " 

FRIEND  have  I,  true  lover  of  my  soul. 
Whose  lightest  word  to  me  is  dearer  Ear 

Than  any  treasure  which  the  dark  earth  holds, 
Or  any  beauty  of  the  morning  star. 

When  day  is  on  my  heart  He  enters  in 

And  crowns  it  with  the  brightness  of  His  grace  ; 

But  more  I  joy,  when  night  envelops  me, 

To  feel  His  presence,  though  I  miss  His  face. 

But  there  are  times  when  foolish  love  of  self 

So  girdles  me  as  with  a  wall  of  flame, 
rI  nat,  should  He  seek  me,  He  would  find  me  not, 

Nor  answer  get  if  lie  should  call  my  name. 

And  other  times  when  open  to  His  feet 

The  doors  of  my  poor  house  as  quickly  swing 
As  if  I  were  a  peasant,  and  the  friend 

For  whom   I  waited  had  been  born  a  kinir. 


THE    TRYS TING-PLACE.  99 

Thus  coming  once  when  I  was  at  my  best, 

He  said  "  My  friend,  I  would  not  have  thee  roam  ; 

Dost  long  to  see  me  ?  Go  about  thy  work, 
And  I  will  come  and  visit  thee  at  home." 

And  I  in  love  with  all  His  noble  ways, 

Feeling  that  He  in  nothing  could  do  wrong, 

Assented,  saying,  "  Even  so  I  will ; 

But  quickly  come,  and  make  thy  visit  long, 

"  That  I  may  speak  with  Thee  of  hidden  things, 
Tell  Thee  alike  of  all  my  joy  and  pain, 

And  feel  Thy  freshness  all  my  spirit  through, 
As  summer's  roses  feel  the  summer  rain." 

And  then  we  parted  ;  but  another  day 

Had  not  passed  over  me  before  the  crowd 

Began  to  laugh  at  me  and  call  me  fool, 

With  here  and  there  a  voice  that  cried  aloud, 

"  Come,  seek  with  us  for  him  who  is  your  Friend. " 
And  I  was  weak  enough  to  them  obey, 

And  follow  them,  despite  my  better  thought, 
For  many  a  night  and  many  a  weary  day. 

We  found  him  not,  though  ever  and  anon 
His  name  we  read  in  books  that  were  of  old, 

Which  said  that  once  His  presence  had  been  sweet, 
That  He  would  come  and  tenderly  enfold 


IOO  THE    TRYSTIXG-PLACE. 

To  His  warm  heart  some  man  of  humble  birth, 
And  talk  with  Him  in  language  just  as  mild 

As  that  which  any  mother  might  repeat 
Above  the  cradle  of  her  little  child. 

And  then  I  said,  "  This  glory  must  be  mine  : 
With  less  than  this  I  cannot  be  content ;" 

So  left  the  crowd  to  seek  Him  as  they  would, 
And  to  my  home  with  eager  feet  I  went. 

And  what  to  find  ?  My  Friend  awaiting  me, 
Here  in  His  place  as  He  had  been  before  ; 

And  down  I  sank  as  if  it  ought  to  be 

That  he,  my  Friend,  would  be  my  Friend  no  more. 

But  He,  as  if,  no  beggar  for  His  grace, 
I  came  of  right  into  His  presence  fair, 

Lifted  me  up,  and  from  my  speechless  face 
Put  back  the  masses  of  my  tangled  hair, 

And  kissed  me  once  and  kissed  me  twice  again, 
And  said,  "  Not  greater  is  Thy  need  of  me 

Than  is  my  need,  although  it  seemeth  not, 
Of  living  and  communing  still  with  Thee/' 


My  words  are  false,  and  yet  my  thoughts  are  true  ; 

My  friend  is  God,  and  ever  by  His  grace, 
Although  by  searching  I  can  find  Him  not, 

My  soul  doth  serve  us  for  a  trysting-place. 


NOT   YET  IOI 


NOT   YET. 

N  clays  long,  long  ago,  when  a  divine  unrest 
Was  surging  like  a  sea  in  Europe's  mighty 
breast, 


And    the   fierce    Hermit's    voice    proclaimed    the    dear 

Lord's  will, 
And  drove  the  nations  forth  to  strike  and  strive  and  kill, 

If  haply  they  might  win  from  Saracenic  horde 
The  tomb  and  precious  dust  of  their  most  precious 
Lord,  — 

As  the  Crusaders  marched  upon  their  weary  way, 
Never  was  seen,  I  trow,  a  mother  disarray  \ 

Baron  and  serf,  and  dames  all  beautiful  and  bright, 
And  women  who  had  strayed  far  out  into  the  night ; 

And  little  children  too,  on  mothers'  aching  breasts, 
That  heaved  with  many  a  sigh  for  their  deserted  nests  ; 


102  NOT   YET. 

And  as  they  toiled  along,  and  came  from  place  to  place, 
Now  to  some  little  town  or  hamlet  void  of  grace, 

The  little  children  asked  of  those  that  carried  them 
In  ever  sadder  tones,  "  Is  this  Jerusalem  ?  " 

And  ever  and  again,  with  more  and  more  regret, 
Heard  the  disheartening  words,  "  Not  yet,  my  child, 
not  yet." 

"Not  yet,  my  child,  not  yet,"  I  hear  the  Father  say 
To  the  Crusader  true,  of  this  our  land  and  day ; 

"  For  many  a  weary  league  thy  feet  have  yet  to  tread 
Ere  through  the  City's  gates  thou  art  in  triumph  led. 

"  Thou  dost  not  know  how  high  its  gleaming  spires 

arise, 
If  with  these  village  roofs  thou  canst  content  thine  eyes. 

"Thou  dost  not  guess  how  wide  is  every  shining  street, 
If  here  thou  think'st  to  find  fit  passage  for  thy  feet. 

"  Thou  hast  not  dreamed  a  dream  of  men  supremely 

strong, 
( )f  women  sweeter  far  than  poet's  sweetest  song, 

"  If  with  these  rustic  boors  thou  canst  be  pleased  to 

dwell, 
And  with  these  damsels  rude  believe  that  all  is  well. 


NOT    YET  103 

"  Rest  in  no  triumph  won  :  the  best  is  yet  to  be, 
Not  yet  from  half  its  woe  is  the  great  world  set  free. 

"  The  victory  of  to-day,  that  seems  so  passing  bright, 
Is  but  a  hamlet  rude  where  thou  shalt  rest  to-night. 

"  To-morrow  up  and  on  ;  but  not  with  hope  to  see, 
Ere  night  shall  come  again,  the  City  rise  on  thee. 

"  Far  off,  far  off  it  lies,  'neath  the  horizon's  rim  : 
Enough  for  thee  to  know,  I  see  Jerusalem! 

"  Thou  hast  done  well  thy  part,  if  thou  hast  done  thy 

best  : 
As  sure  as  I  am  God,  I  answer  for  the  rest." 


1867. 


I C4  UNCO  NSC  10  US  NESS. 


UNCONSCIOUSNESS. 

u  Why  callest  tliou  me  good  ?    There  is  none  good  but  God." 

1¥f^\  READ  that,  when  Beethoven  was  grown  old, 
The  mighty  ravishment  of  that  great  power, 
Which  holds  ns  willing  captives  to  this  hour, 
Still  like  a  torrent  from  his  bosom  rolled, 
But  on  his  outward  sense  it  took  no  hold  j 
Deaf  were  his  ears  to  all  that  perfect  dower 
That  gushed  from  him,  as  fragrance  from  a  (lower, 
In  tenderest  joy  a  million  hearts  to  fold. 

I  read  of  One  from  out  whose  heart  there  came 
The  music  of  a  life  at  one  with  God  ; 

Which  makes  the  ages  echo  with  His  fame. 
And  "  Holy  Land  "  the  land  which  erst  I  le  trod  : 

And  still,  though  tender,  He  with  words  of  blame 
Encountered  one  who  dared  to  call  Him  good. 


1871. 


SUB-CONSCIO  USNESS.  1 05 


SUB-CONSCIOUSNESS. 

"  Peace  I  leave  with  you,  my  peace  I  give  unto  you.' 


ET  when  the  mightiest  of  music's  lords,  — 
Master-magician  of  that  finer  speech 
Which  tells  of  things  that  words  can  never 
reach, 
And  room  for  soul  as  well  as  sense  affords,  — 
When  he  could  hear  no  more  the  thrilling  chords, 
He  was  not  deaf  as  is  the  lonely  beach 
To  its  own  music  :  there  was  still  a  breach 
Through  which  he  heard  the  inarticulate  words. 

And  He  that  said,  "  Why  callest  thou  me  good  ?  " 
Nor  heard  the  music  that  his  life  outpoured,  — 
He  was  not  stranger  to  a  peace  which  flowed 
From  those  calm  heights  whereto  his  spirit  soared. 

The  praise  of  men  might  bravely  be  withstood, 
But  not  the  Love  he  silently  adored. 

1871. 


IO0 


THE   STORY  OF  MEDARDUS. 


THE   STORY   OF   MEDARDUS. 


EDARDUS  walked  his  studio-cell, 
And  sights  of  Heaven  and  shapes  of  Hell 

Passed  by  him  in  a  dream  ; 
For  he  a  picture  fain  would  paint 
Of  Mary  or  some  blessed  saint, 
In  altar-niche  to  gleam. 


And  there  in  vision  Mary  came, 
Her  face  as  bright  as  purest  flame, 

Her  form  of  matchless  grace  ; 
And  dark  beneath  her  feet  he  sees- 
A  sight  to  make  the  vitals  freeze  — 

The  Adversary's  face. 


"This  shall  my  picture  be,"  he  said, 
And  seized  his  brush  and  straight  essayed 

To  make  the  vision  good  ; 
Nor  cared  for  food,  nor  cared  for  rest, 
But  day  and  night,  like  one  possessed, 

Before  his  canvas  stood. 


THE  STORY  OF  MEDARDUS.  107 

The  Virgin  lent  her  kindly  aid, 

And  soon  the  sacred  dream  was  stayed, 

And  on  the  canvas  glowed ; 
The  Virgin  fair  as  fair  could  be, 
But  Satan  not  more  hideously 

Glowers  in  his  own  abode. 

But  as  one  day  Medardus  stood 
In  happy  and  exultant  mood 

Before  his  picture  done, 
He  felt  a  chilling  presence  near, 
And  knew  by  something  dark  and  drear 

That  he  was  not  alone. 

The  Adversary  spoke  —  'twas  he  — 
And  promised  gifts  most  lavishly. 

If  but  Medardus  would 
Take  something  from  the  Virgin's  °-race 
Or  make  his  own  accursed  face 

With  less  of  hell  imbued. 

But  no  :  Medardus  seized  his  brush, 
And  gave  the  Virgin's  face  a  flush 

Of  meaning  more  divine  ; 
While  on  the  Adversary's  face 
He  left  a  more  terrific  trace, 

A  more  infernal  snrn. 


I08  THE  STORY  OF  MEDARDUS. 

Again  the  Tempter  came  to  him, 

But  now  with  threatenings  harsh  and  grim 

Of  evil  things  to  come  ; 
But  still  Medardus  would  not  yield, 
And  still  her  face  with  splendor  filled 

The  dark  and  narrow  room. 

At  last  a  day  had  come  when  all 
The  people  made  high  festival  ; 

And,  best  of  all  the  glee, 
The  picture  by  Medardus  made 
Would  in  the  great  square  be  displayed, 

That  all  might  come  and  see. 

And  there  it  was  ;  and  while  the  crowd 
Surged  up,  with  acclamations  loud, 

To  View  the  wondrous  thing:, 
Medardus  close  beside  it  stood, 
And  praised  the  Virgin  that  he  could 

Make  her  such  offering. 

But  sudden  there  was  heard  a  cry, 
And  then  down-swooping  from  on  high 

The  Adversary  sped  : 
Medardus  sei/ed,  and  high  in  air 
Bore  him  ;  then  on  the  pavement  there 

He  (lashed  him,  bleeding  —  dead. 


THE  STORY  OF  MEDARDUS.  109 

But  see  !     The  Virgin  seems  to  move 
Her  pictured  arms  ;  her  face  with  love 

Unspeakable  is  sweet  : 
She  reaches  from  the  picture  forth, 
And  lifts  Medardus  from  the  earth 

And  sets  him  on  his  feet. 

Again  he  lives  !     Again  he  sees 

The  crowd,  now  hushed  upon  their  knees, 

And  hears  the  Virgin  say  : 
"  As  thou  wast  ever  true  to  me, 
To-day  I  have  been  true  to  thee, 

And  will  be  true  alway." 

O  Heavenly  Father,  grant  that  we 
May  from  this  tale  of  mystery 

This  simple  lesson  gain  : 
That,  if  Thy  visions  we  obey, 
Whatever  comes  to  curse  or  slay, 

It  will  but  come  in  vain. 


1870. 


HO  A    TIMELY  QUESTION. 


A   TIMELY   QUESTION. 

F  good  men  were  only  better, 
Would  the  wicked  be  so  bad  ? 
Here's  a  story  with  an  answer 

To  that  question  strange  and  sad. 


Herod,  famed  among  the  wicked, 
Called  the  Great  with  doubtful  right, 

When  a  boy  of  twenty  summers 
With  banditti  made  a  fight. 

Hezekiah,  their  fierce  captain, 
Captured  he  and  put  to  death  ; 

Many  a  follower  then  compelled  he 
To  resign  his  evil  breath. 

It  was  well  done  :  who  but  thinks  so? 

Thought  not  so  the  Sanhedrim 
1  [erod  was  an  [dumean  ; 

So  his  deed  became  a  sin. 


A    TIMELY  QUESTION.  in 

Let  him  kill  his  own  banditti ; 

Never  dare  to  deal  with  theirs. 
So  they  summoned  him  to  meet  them 

And  to  settle  his  affairs. 

Scarcely  sooner  said  than  done  'twas  ; 

Herod  came  ;  they  wished  him  back ; 
For  he  came  all  clad  in  armor, 

With  his  henchmen  at  his  back. 

Cowered  the  Sanhedrin  before  him ; 

Dared  not  say  a  single  word  ; 
Only  Sameas  withstood  him 

With  a  brave,  "Thus  saith  the  Lord." 

Herod  listened  while  the  Rabbi 

Execrated  all  his  crimes  ; 
Then  he  vanished.     Summers  flitted  ; 

Fell  the  land  on  evil  times ; 

Antony  and  Caesar  ploughed  it 

With  the  iron  share  of  war; 
Tore  it  with  their  cruel  factions, 

Left  it  many  a  dreadful  scar ; 

Till,  at  length,  from  Rome  came  Herod, 

Sent  by  Caesar  to  be  king ; 
At  the  gates  his  legions  thundered, 

Famine  gnawed  them  from  within. 


112  A    TIMELY  QUEST/ON. 

Many  months  in  vain  he  battered, 
But,  at  last,  surrender  came; 

Then  a  deed  that  earned  for  Herod 
Centuries  of  hateful  fame. 

Since  the  Sanhedrin  had  counselled 
Firm  resistance  to  his  will, 

"  Let  them  perish,"  he  commanded, 
"Let  their  blood  the  gutters  fill." 

Only  one  he  granted  mercy,  — 

Sameas  ;  the  very  man 
Who  had  years  before  withstood  him. 

Guess  the  reason  if  you  can. 

I  have  guessed  it  in  the  question 
Which  I  venture,  strange  and  sad  : 

If  the  good  were  only  better, 
Would  the  wicked  be  so  bad  ? 

1872. 


/  /  *HA  T  IV  O  ULD    THE  J '  S\  lYf 


113 


WHAT   WOULD    THEY  -SAY  ? 


F  they  could  find  a  voice,  these  little  ones, 

That  freeze  by  night  and  hunger  all  the  day, 
If  they  could  find  a  voice  and  speak  to  you, 
What  think    you,  men    and    women,  would 
they  say  ? 


They  would  say,  If  God  had  told  them,  up  in  heaven, 
Of  the  welcome  that  awaited  them  on  earth, 

And  had  let  them  choose  to  stay  with  Him  for  ever, 
Or  to  taste  the  awful  mystery  of  birth  ; 

Though  it  would  have  been  most  bitter  not  to  listen 
To  the  prayers  of  women  waiting  for  their  birth, 

They  would  have  stayed  for  ever  up  in  heaven, 
And  would  never  have  descended  to  the  earth. 


But  they  came,  (oh,  little  feet !)  not  knowing  whither,  — 
Did  not  dream  but  that  the  earth  would  serve  them 
well  ; 

Did  not  dream  that  they  were  wandering  out  of  heaven 
To  encounter  all  the  miseries  of  hell. 

H 


114  WHAT   WOULD   THEY  SAY? 

"  But  now  that  we  are  with  you,  men  and  women," 

They  would  say,  if  they  could  only  find  the  word, 
"  We  pray  you  do  not  turn  to  bitter  crying 

What  should  be  the  sweetest  music  ever  heard. 

"  For  the  fathers  and  the  mothers  that  God  gave  us 
Did  for  us  the  very  best  that  they  could  do, 

But  they  perished  with  their  over-work  and  sorrow, 
And  we  turn  from  their  dead  faces  unto  you. 

"  Will  you  help  us  to  be  innocent  and  happy? 

Will  you  help  us  to  be  womanly  and  pure  ? 
Will  you  save  us  from  the  terrible  temptations 

That  for  ever  lie  in  waiting  for  the  poor  ? 

"  Will  you  snatch  us  from  the  dreadful  tooth  of  famine, 
From  the  sharper  tooth  of  ignorance  and  sin  ? 

Will  you  lead  us  from  this  fearful  outer  darkness 
To  the  light  which  evermore  doth  shine  within  ? 

"  If  you  will,  O  men  and  women,  we  will  bless  you  ; 

And  the  children  that  God  lets  you  call  your  own 
Shall  reward  you,  with  their  sweetest  baby  murmurs, 

For  not  leaving  us  to  perish  all  alone." 

if  they  could  find  a  voice,  these  little  ones. 
That  freeze  by  night  and  hunger  all  the  day, — 

If  they  could  find  a  voice  and  speak  to  you, 

Men  and  women,  it  is  this  that  they  would  say, 

i 


A    TRUE  STORY.  1 15 

A   TRUE   STORY. 

u  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this." 

ROM  a  home  that  had  two  darlings 
One  was  called  and  went  away,  — 
Baby  Ralph  ;  and  little  Willie 
Missed  him  sorely  at  his  play. 

As  one  day  he  talked  about  him, 

Wondering  much  where  he  had  gone, 

Wishing  much  he  would  not  tarry, 
Brother  Willie  was  so  lone,  — 

Said  the  mother,  so  beguiling 

Something  of  her  secret  pain, 
"  What  would  Willie  give  if  only 

Baby  Ralph  could  come  again  ?  " 

Drooped  the  little  head  in  silence, 
Thinking  hard,  'twas  plain  to  see  ; 

Then  he  spoke  out  strong  and  tender, 
"Mamma  I  would  give  God  inc." 


1873. 


1  1 6  SELF-POSSESSION. 


^■c 


SELF-POSSESSION. 

T  chanced  that  as  I  sailed  the  purple  sea,  — 
The  marvellous  sea,  the  name  of  which  is 
Life,  — 
There  came  a  day  when  there  was  borne  to  me 
A  song,  with  wondrous  melody  so  rife, 


That  as  I  listened  to  its  silver  strain, 

And  heard  its  waves  of  music  rise  and  fall, 

I  longed  to  hear  it  ever  and  again,  — 

To  seek  the  place  from  whence  it  seemed  to  call. 

It  was  the  singing  of  that  siren  band 

Who  lure  so  many  voyagers  astray  : 
Such  music  never  was  on  sea  or  land, 

And  these  the  words  it  did  so  sweetly  say:  — 

"  Come,  oh  !  come. 
Here  the  winds  arc  soft  and  low, 
And  the  sweetest  roses  blow: 
1  [ere  the  brightest  waters  run, 
I  lancing,  leaping  in  the  sun. 

Come,  oh  !  come. 


SELF-POSSESSION.  1 1 7 

"  Come,  oh  !  come. 
Here  are  maidens  young  and  fair, 
Roses  tangled  in  their  hair  ; 
But  the  redness  of  their  lips 
Doth  the  roses  all  eclipse. 

Come,  oh  !  come. 

"  Come,  oh  !  come. 
Do  you  think  our  song  is  sweet  ? 
You  should  hear  their  glancing  feet, 
As  they  dance  :  that  indeed 
Music  is  for  gods  to  heed. 

Come,  oh !  come. 

"  Come,  oh  !  come. 
Every  maiden  in  her  eyes 
Has  a  charm  that  never  dies  : 
He  will  want  no  other  bliss 
Whom  they  whisper,  as  they  kiss, 

'Come,  oh  !  come.' 

"  Come,  oh  !  come. 
Here  is  every  pleasant  sound  ; 
Here  is  Duty  never  found,  — 
Never  does  her  rigid  face 
Darken  this  delightful  place. 

Come,  oh !  come. 


I 1  £>  SELF-POSSESSION. 

"  Come,  oh  !  come. 
We  will  lull  thy  soul  to  sleep, 
And  thy  senses  we  will  steep 
In  a  joy  so  rich  and  strange 
Thou  shalt  never  long  for  change. 

Come,  oh  !  come." 

Then  those  with  whom  I  voyaged  said  to  me 
That  they  had  often  heard  the  song  before, 

In  days  when  they  were  young  and  fair  to  see, 
And  would  have  followed  it  for  evermore, 

But  that  their  fellow-voyagers  did  bind 
Their  eager  bodies  to  the  reeling  mast,  — 

Lest  they  a  melancholy  death  should  find,  — 
Till  of  the  singing  they  had  heard  the  last. 

And  then  because  my  life  was  fresh  in  me, 
And  the  warm  blood  not  curdled  in  my  veins, 

They  said,  "  F7en  so,  now,  will  we  do  to  thee," 

And  thought  that  I  would  thank  them  for  their  pains. 

Then  brought  they  cord  to  bind  my  restless  limbs, 
And  wax  to  stop  the  portals  of  mine  ears, 

That  I  might  hear  no  more  of  those  sweet  hymns 
That  filled  my  eyes  with  hot  but  happy  tears. 


SELF-POSSESSION.  1 1 9 

And,  oh  !  the  singing  filled  me  with  such  fears : 
It  was  so  wicked,  though  it  was  so  sweet, 

That  half  a  mind  I  was  to  shut  my  ears, 
And  let  them  fasten  as  they  would  my  feet. 

But  quick  and  sudden  came  the  better  thought 
That  this  would  be  a  coward  thing  indeed ; 

That  for  this  cause  I  had  been  hither  brought,  — 
To  let  mine  heart  upon  this  music  feed, 

And  yet  be  strong  to  let  it  plead  in  vain, 

And  so  by  its  accursed  haunts  to  go, 
And  reach  the  waters  of  that  open  main 

Where  God's  great  ships  go  sailing  to  and  fro. 

11  Unhand  me  !  let  me  win  this  fight  alone  : 
Win  it  not  for  me  with  your  wax  and  cord." 

Already  was  the  music  fainter  grown, 
As  they  obeyed  me  as  a  slave  his  lord. 

Then  fainter  and  more  faint  the  singing  grew, 
Till,  though  I  tried  to  catch  its  closing  strain, 

The  last  sound  died  across  the  waters  blue, 
And  smote  no  more  my  bosom  with  its  pain. 

And  then  methought  another  song  I  heard, 
Sweeter  than  was  the  first  a  thousand  times  : 

It  sang  as  cloth  the  happiest  summer  bird 
To  its  fond  mate,  what  time  Apollo  climbs 


120  THE    OTHER   SIDE. 

The  ruddy  east  ;  and,  as  each  note  I  caught, 
I  wpndered  that  the  first  seemed  sweet  at  all. 

So  heavenly  sweet  was  that  which  now  besought 
My  soul  to  mingle  with  the  All-in-all. 

1868. 


THE   OTHER   SIDE. 


|^^p|]LIMBING  the  mountain's  shaggy  crest, 

g||       I  wondered  much  what  sight  would  greet 
My  eager  gaze  whene'er  my  feet 
Upon  the  topmost  height  should  rest. 

The  other  side  was  all  unknown ; 

But,  as  I  slowly  toiled  along, 

Sweeter  to  me  than  any  song 
My  dream  of  visions  to  be  shown. 

Meanwhile  the  mountain  shrubs  distilled 
Their  sweetness  all  along  my  way, 
And  the  delicious  summer  day 

My  heart  with  rapture  overfilled. 

At  length  the  topmost  height  was  gained  ; 

The  other  side  was  full  in  view; 

My  dreams  —  not  one  of  them  was  true, 
But  better  far  had  I  attained. 


THE   OTHER  SIDE.  l2l 

For  far  and  wide  on  either  hand 

There  stretched  a  valley  broad  and  fair, 
With  greenness  flashing  everywhere,  — ' 

A  pleasant,  smiling,  home-like  land. 

Who  knows,  I  thought,  but  so  'twill  prove 
Upon  that  mountain-top  of  death, 
Where  we  shall  draw  diviner  breath, 

And  see  the  long-lost  friends  we  love.' 

It  may  not  be  as  we  have  dreamed, 
Not  half  so  awful,  strange,  and  grand ; 
A  quiet,  peaceful,  home-like  land, 

Better  than  e'er  in  vision  gleamed. 

Meanwhile  along  our  upward  way 

What  beauties  lurk,  what  visions  glow! 
Whatever  shall  be,  this  we  know 

Is  better  than  our  lips  can  say. 


Bethel,  Me.,  1S74. 


I  22 


jVOS  MORITURI   TE   SALUTAMl'S. 


NOS    MORITURI   TE   SALUTAMUS. 


OT,  Heavenly  Father,  that  we  ask  or  hope 
An  idle  heaven  beyond  the  sea  of  death, 
Do  we,  about  to  die,  salute  Thee  thus 
With  our  fast-failing  breath. 


For  we  have  found  the  dearest  joy  of  earth 
In  work  for  Thee  and  for  our  fellow-men  ; 

Dying,  we  would  not  lay  the  burden  down  \ 
As  now,  so  be  it  then. 

Not  that  we  claim  reward  for  duty  dour. 

Though  ne'er  so  bravely,  in  this  mortal  strife. 
Do  we  demand  of  Thee,  O  God,  our  God, 

A  never-ending  life. 


For  it  has  been  reward  enough  for  US 
To  do  the  duty  for  its  own  sweet  sake. 

We  have  our  dues,  but  not  the  less  our  cry 
For  life  to  come  we  make. 


NOS  MORITURI  TE  SALUTAMUS.         123 

Over  a  few  things  we  have  faithful  been  : 
Now  over  many  do  Thou  give  us  rule ; 

For  work,  more  work  ;  for  lessons  learned,  to  be 
For  ever  in  Thy  school. 

Not  that  we  want  a  better  world  than  this  ; 

Rather  that  this  is  so  divinely  good ; 
And  what  is  best  in  it  doth  ever  taste 

As  'twere  immortal  food. 

Not  that  we  hope  to  reach  some  happy  shore, 
Where  storms  shall  never  dim  the  summer 'sky, 

Where  struggle,  sorrow,  pain,  shall  be  no  more,   ' 
Seems  it  less  hard  to  die. 

We  know  too  well  the  good  of  sorrow  here ; 

What  after  freshness  lurks  in  every  storm  ; 
What  strength  and  beauty,  pain  and  struggle',  bring 

In  their  forbidding  form. 

Thus,  O  our  Father,  we  about  to  die 
Salute  Thee,  not  in  selfishness  or  fear  ; 

And  dare  believe  that  there  is  more  beyond 
Than  we  have  dreamed  of  here. 


124  LIFE  AFTER  DEATH. 


LIFE    AFTER   DEATH. 

OFT  was  the  air  of  spring,  and  at  his  feet 
The  turf,  full  swift,  was  turning  green  and 

sweet, 
As  from  the  city  Rabbi  Nathan  passed, 
Musing  on  Him  who  is  the  first  and  last. 


The  tuneful  birds  he  heard  in  woodlands  dim, 
Wooing  each  other  with  that  vernal  hymn, 
Which,  flowing  first  from  the  great  heart  above, 
Keeps  fresh  the  world  with  its  perpetual  love. 

Anon  he  came  to  where  with  eager  toil 
An  aged  man,  fretting  the  fragrant  soil 
With  his  sharp  spade,  did  make  a  space  to  set 
A  cobar  tree,  —  the  greatest  wonder  yet ! 

For  seventy  years  the  cobar  tree  must  grow, 
Full  seventy  years  leaves  bear  and  shadows  throw, 
Ere  to  fair  fruit  its  fair,  sweet  blossoms  turn, 
For  all  the  Day  god's  ever-flowing  urn. 


LIFE  AFTER  DEATH.  125 

"  What  madness  this  !  "  cloth  Rabbi  Nathan  cry ; 
"  Thou  workest  here  as  one  not  born  to  die ; 
As  if  thyself  didst  hope  that  of  this  tree 
Fruit  yet  should  come  to  be  a  joy  to  thee." 

Then  turned  the  aged  man,  and  gently  said : 
"This  tree  shall  grow  long  after  I  am  dead  ; 
But  though  its  fruit  my  hands  may  never  gain, 
My  planting,  Rabbi,  will  not  be  in  vain. 

"  Have  I  not  eaten  of  the  cobar  tree  ? 
My  father's  father  planted  it  for  me. 
So  plant  I  this,  that  in  the  coming  days 
My  children's  children  may  my  labor  praise." 

"Thou  fool !  "  the  Rabbi  said,  "to  work  for  those 
Who  may  or  not  be,  Heaven  only  knows. 
All  earthly  things  full  soon  must  pass  away, 
'Tis  only  work  for  Heaven  that  will  pay." 

He  wandered  on,  and,  as  the  sun  now  low, 

Rushed  to  its  setting,  and  a  sudden  glow 

Filled  all  the  west,  he  laid  him  down  to  sleep, 

Nor  guessed  how  long  the  charm  its  power  would  keep. 

For  many  a  moon  did  wax  and  wane  again, 
And  many  a  year  did  bring  its  joy  and  pain, 
Ere  he  awoke,  and  not  far  off  beheld 
What  seemed  the  tree  that  he  had  known  of  eld. 


126  LIFE  AFTER  DEATH. 

But  now  it  was  full  grown,  and  at  its  root 
A  man,  full  grown,  was  eating  of  its  fruit, 
Who  said,  when  asked  how  came  it  thus  to  be, 
"  My  father's  father  planted  it  for  me." 

Then  Rabbi  Nathan  knew  that  seventy  years, 
With  all  their  precious  freight  of  smiles  and  tears, 
Had  lied  since  he  had  lain  him  down  to  sleep, 
And  felt  the  slumber  o'er  his  eyelids  creep. 

He  wandered  back  into  the  city  street, 
But  saw  no  friend  with  voice  of  love  to  greet ; 
Yet  in  the  schools  where  he  of  old  did  teach, 
He  heard  the  sages  quote  his  silver  speech. 

And  then  he  saw  that  not  in  heaven  alone, 
But  here  on  earth,  we  live  when  we  are  gone; 
Too  late  he  learned  the  lesson  of  to-day  : 
The  world  goes  on  when  we  are  gone  away. 

The  world  goes  on  ;  and  happiest  is  he 
Who  in  such  wise  wins  immortality, 
That,  should  he  sleep  for  ever  in  the  grave, 
His  work  goes  on  and  helps  the  world  to  save. 

March,  1S71. 


KING   EDWIN'S  FEAST.  1 27 


KING   EDWIN'S    FEAST. 

HERE  was  feasting  in  the  hall 
And  the  beards  wagged  all. 
Oh  !  the  board  was  heaped  with  food, 
And  the  ale  was  like  a  flood, 
And  'twas  bitter  winter  weather 
When  King  Edwin  and  his  eldormen  and  thanes 
Were  a-feasting  thus  together. 

As  the  board  was  heaped  with  food, 
So  the  hearth  was  piled  with  wood  ; 
Ay,  with  oaken  logs  a  score  ; 
And  the  flames  did  leap  and  roar, 
And  they  cast  a  ruddy  glow 
On  King  Edwin  and  his  eldormen  and  thanes 
As  they  feasted  in  a  row. 

All  at  once  they  were  aware 

Of  a  flutter  in  the  air, 

As  a  little  sparrow  came 

In  between  them  and  the  flame, 


128  KING  EDWIN'S  FEAST. 

Then  a  moment  flew  around, 
While  King  Edwin  and  his  eldormen  and  thanes 
Wondered  whither  he  was  bound. 

Then  he  vanished  through  the  door, 
And  they  never  saw  him  more  ; 
But  up  spoke  a  noble  Thane, 
As  a  silence  seemed  to  reign, 

And  a  wonder  seemed  to  fall 
On  King  Edwin  and  his  eldormen  and  thanes 

As  they  feasted  in  the  hall : 

"  What  is  all  this  life  of  ours, 
With  its  graces  and  its  powers  ? 
It  is  like  the  bird  that  came 
In  between  us  and  the  flame, 

Stayed  a  moment  in  the  room 
With  King  Edwin  and  his  eldormen  and  thanes, 

Then  was  off  into  the  gloom. 

"  So  we  come  out  of  the  night, 
Stay  a  moment  in  the  light 
Of  a  warm  and  pleasant  room, 
Then  go  forth  into  the  gloom. 
Hither  somehow  tempest  t 
O  King  Edwin  !  and  you,  eldormen  and  thanes, 
Then  again  in  darkness  lost." 


KING   EDWIN'S  FEAST.  1 29 

Then  another  silence  fell 

And  the  first  who  broke  the  spell 

Was  Paulinius,  the  Christian,  and  he  said, 

Bowing  low  a  reverent  head 

That  was  white  with  many  years, 
To  King  Edwin  and  his  eldormen  and  thanes, 

And  his  words  were  dim  with  tears  : 

"  Oh  !  not  merely  tempest-tost, 
Not  again  in  darkness  lost, 
Is  the  little  bird  that  came 
In  between  us  and  the  flame  ; 

For  the  bird  will  find  his  nest. 
So,  King  Edwin,  and  you,  eldormen  and  thanes, 

Be  not  your  hearts  distressed. 

"  Not  from  darkness  comes  the  soul, 
Nor  shall  darkness  be  its  goal. 
For  that,  too,  there  is  a  nest, 
Whither  flying  it  shall  rest 

Evermore.     It  must  be  so." 
Said  King  Edwin  and  his  eldormen  and  thanes, 

"  Would  to  God  that  we  might  know  /" 


1874- 


130  BUDDHA'S  LESSON. 


BUDDHA'S   LESSON. 

ISAGOTAMI  saw  her  first  child's  face  ; 
She  saw  him  grow  in  knowledge  and  in  grace  ; 
But  it  was  only  for  a  little  space. 

Kisagotami  saw  him  lying  dead  ; 

Against  her  heart  she  pressed  his  curly  head, 

And  forth  into  the  neighbors'  houses  sped. 

"  Something  to  heal  my  darling's  hurt !  "  she  cried. 
"  Girl,  thou  art  mad/'  was  all  that  each  replied. 
But  one:  "Thy  cure  with  Buddha  doth  abide.*' 

Still  holding  the  dead  child  against  her  heart, 

She  found  the  prophet,  and  made  known  her  smart  : 

"  Buddha,  canst  cure  him  with  thy  wondrous  art?" 

"A  grain  of  mustard-seed,"  the  sage  replied, 
"  Found  where  none  old  or  young  has  ever  died, 
Will  cure  the  pain  you  carry  in  your  side." 

Kisagotami  wandered  forth  again, 

And  in  the  homes  of  many  hundred  men 

She  sought  the  seed  where  death  had  never  been. 


DEATH  AND   SPRING. 

'Twas  all  in  vain.     Then  in  a  lonely  wood 
Her  child  with  leaves  she  buried  as  she  could, 
And  once  again  in  Buddha's  presence  stood.  ' 


'31 


hast  found  the  magic  seed  ?  " 


"  Daughter,"  he  said 

And  she  :  <<  I  find  that  every  heart  cloth  bleed ; 

That  every  house  of  death  hath  taken  heed." 


I  lien  Buddha  said  :  "This  knowledge  is  thy  cure 
Ihy  sorrow,  soon  or  late,  for  all  is  sure ; 
Therefore,  my  child,  be  patient  and  endure." 

February,  1874. 


DEATH  AND   SPRING. 

C.    P.    G. 

Y  noble  friend  is  dead, 
And  in  his  narrow  bed 
The  earth  doth  gently  rest 
Upon  his  gentle  breast. 


And  still  the  sun  doth  pour 
Its  brightness  as  before  ; 
And  still  in  every  place  ' 
The  spring  comes  on  apace ; 


132  DEATH  AND   SPRING. 

And  still  the  sweet  flowers  blow, 
The  flowers  he  cared  for  so  ; 
And  still  the  wee  birds  sing, 
At  rest  or  on  the  wing. 

"  O  cruel  sun,"  I  said, 
"  To  shine  when  he  is  dead  ; 
O  cruel  spring,  to  come 
When  his  dear  lips  are  dumb  \ 
O  cruel  flowers,  to  bloom 
When  he  is  in  the  tomb  ; 

0  cruel  birds,  to  sing, 
And  he  not  listening  !  " 

Then  from  an  inner  sky 

1  heard  a  soft  reply  : 
"  Doth  any  day  go  by 

And  not  some  loved  one  die, 
Though  all  unknown  to  thee, 
As  dear  as  thine  could  be  ? 
Not  thou  alone  dost  cry 
For  nature's  sympathy. 
To  every  mourning  heart 
The  sunshine  brings  a  smart, 
The  spring  seems  all  too  gay, 
The  flowers  are  wished  away, 
The  birds'  songs  in  the  trees 
Are  subtle  mockeries. 


DEATH  AND   SPRING.  133 

"  If  grief  could  have  its  will, 
All  days  were  dark  and  chill. 
The  spring  would  never  come ; 
The  flowers  would  never  bloom  ; 
The  birds  would  never  sing, 
At  rest  or  on  the  wing. 

"  Rest,  troubled  spirit,  rest  : 
God  knoweth  what  is  best. 

"  The  sunshine  thou  dost  chide 

Hath  healing  in  its  tide  • 

The  spring  that  comes  apace 

Shall  touch  thee  with  its  grace  • 

The  flowers  their  sweet  perfume 

Shall  shed  upon  his  tomb  ; 

The  birds  in  woodlands  dim 

Shall  make  lament  for  him  ; 

And  thou  some  day  shalt  see 

That  it  was  best  for  thee 
That  all  thy  sorrow  was  so  strangely  blent 
With  nature's  harmony  of  full  content." 


May,  1874. 


134  A   DOUBLE  MEANING. 


A   DOUBLE    MEANING. 


AMMA,  I  see  you  over  there," 

He  said,  and  then  he  sank  to  rest, 
Happy  to  feel  that  she  was  near 
To  guard  and  tend  his  little  nest. 


But  when  the  morning  broke,  it  brought 
Another  night  of  deeper  gloom  \ 

For  the  blue  heaven  of  Jamie's  eyes 
No  longer  lighted  all  the  room. 

No  answering  word  or  look  or  smile 
Our  hungry  hearts  might  hope  to  win  ; 

And  the  faint  breathing  fainter  grew, 
Then  stopped,  and  did  no  more  begin. 

"  Mamma,  I  see  you  over  there  :  " 

No  simpler  words  could  he  have  said, 

But  now  that  he  is  gone  they  seem 
A  message  from  the  living  dead. 


i§73- 


A    DOUBLE  MEANING.  135 

"  I  see  you  over  there,"  it  says, 

"  Father  and  Mother,  in  your  pain  • 

I  see  the  way  that  I  have  come, 
But  may  not  traverse  it  again. 

"  But  still  my  thought  can  go  to  you, 
As  yours  can  come  and  stay  with  me  • 

And  each  can  know  the  other  near, 
And  greatly  joy  with  it  to  be. 

"  And  so  if,  as  the  days  go  past, 

Our  thoughts  can  thus  together  bide, 

Whate'er  is  missed,  are  we  not  still 
Living  together  side  by  side  ?  " 

This  is  the  message.     Well  we  know 

Tis  but  the  echo  of  our  prayer  ; 
And  yet  we  trust  that  'tis  a  sign 

Of  what  is  true  of  Here  and  There. 


135 


SEALED    ORDERS. 


SEALED   ORDERS. 


"  Thou  knowest  not  now,  but  thou  shalt  know  hereafter/' 


UR  life  is  like  a  ship  that  sails  some  day 
To  distant  waters,  leagues  on  leagues  away  ; 
Not  knowing  what  command  to  do  and  (Lire 
Awaits  her  when  her  eager  keel  is  there. 


Birth,  love,  and  death  are  ports  we  leave  behind, 
Borne  on  by  rolling  wave  and  rushing  wind  ; 
Bearing  a  message  with  unbroken  seal. 
Whose  meaning  fain  we  would  at  once  reveal. 

And  there  are  friends  who  stand  upon  the  shore 
And  watch  our  sail  till  it  is  seen  no  more  j 
And  cry,  "  Oh  !  would  that  we  might  know  the  way 
The  brave  ship  goes  for  many  a  weary  day!  " 


It  may  not  be.      But  ever  and  anon 
Some  order,  sealed  at  first,  we  ope  and  con  ; 
So  learn  what  next,  so  east  or  westward  fly, 
And  lK-Vr  again  that  port  of  Birth  espy, 


SEALED    ORDERS.  I  37 

How  many  another  craft  goes  dancing  by  ! 
What  pennants  float  from  morn  and  evening  sky! 
By  day  how  white  our  wake  behind  us  streams  ! 
By  night  what  golden,  phosphorescent  gleams  ! 

There  comes  a  day  when  Love,  that  lies  asleep, 
The  fairest  island  in  the  mighty  deep, 
Wakes  on  our  sight  \  its  fragrant  shores  we  reach, 
And  grates  our  keel  upon  its  shining  beach. 

There  do  we  stay  awhile  ;  but  soon  again 
We  trim  our  sails  to  seek  the  open  main  ; 
And  now,  whatever  winds  and  waves  betide, 
Two  friendly  ships  are  sailing  side  by  side. 

Where  lies  their  course  in  vain  they  seek  to  know. 
"  Go  forth,"  the  Spirit  says,  and  forth  they  go  ; 
Enough  that,  wheresoever  they  may  fare, 
Alike  the  sunshine  and  the  storm  they  share. 

Islands  that  none  e'er  visited  before 
Invite  to  land  with  easy-shelving  shore  ; 
Circes  and  Sirens  fling  their  challenge  out, 
Charybdis  deafens  Scylla's  deafening  shout  ; 

But  still  these  ships  keep  joyful  company, 
And  many  a  new,  strange  land  they  haste  to  see. 
In  port  of  Love  'twas  pleasant  to  abide, 
But,  oh  !   Love's  sea  is  very  deep  and  wide. 


138  SEALED   ORDERS. 

Ay,  deep  and  wide,  and  yet  there  comes  a  day 
When  these  fond  ships  must  sail  a  parted  way  ; 
The  port  of  Death  doth  one  of  them  beguile, 
The  other  lingers  for  a  little  while. 

Lingers  as  near  as  she  may  dare  to  go, 
And  plies  the  cold,  gray  offing  to  and  fro  ; 
Waiting,  impatient,  for  the  high  command 
To  sail  into  the  shadow  of  the  land. 

Is  this  the  end  ?     I  know  it  cannot  be. 
Our  ships  shall  sail  upon  another  sea  \ 
New  islands  yet  shall  break  upon  our  sight, 
New  continents  of  love  and  truth  and  might. 

But  still  not  knowing,  still  with  orders  scaled, 
Our  track  shall  lie  across  the  heavenly  held  ; 
Yet  there,  as  here,  though  dim  the  distant  way, 
Our  strength  shall  be  according  to  our  day. 

The  sea  is  His.     He  made  it,  and  1  lis  -race 
Lurks  in  its  wildest  wave,  its  deepest  place. 

Our  truest  knowledge  is  that  He  is  wise  ; 

What  is  our  foresight  to  His  sweet  surprise  ? 

1S71. 


NO  MORE  SEA.  139 


NO   MORE   SEA. 


S,  when  the  friends  we  dearly  love 

Go  sailing  over  sea, 
For  all  the  joy  to  which  they  go, 

Our  hearts  will  saddened  be  ; 


So  when  upon  that  sea  which  rolls 
All  earth  and  heaven  between, 

Those  whom  we  love,  upon  the  deck 
Of  death's  great  ship  are  seen ; 

For  all  the  joy  to  which  they  go, 
Though  heaven  be  e'er  so  sweet, 

And  e'er  so  good  and  wonderful 
The  folk  they  go  to  meet ; 

As  with  intensest  gaze  we  watch, 
And  see  them  fade  from  sight, 

God  help  us,  but  our  human  hearts 
Are  any  thing  but  light ! 


140  NO  MORE  SEA. 


II. 


As,  when  the  friends  we  dearly  love 

Have  gone  beyond  the  sea, 
The  far-off  lands  in  which  they  bide 

More  real  get  to  be  : 

So  when  our  loved  ones  once  have  crossed 

Death's  lone  and  silent  sea, 
And  in  a  country  new  and  strange 

Found  immortality, 

The  heavenly  land  in  which  they  bide, 

Which  erst  did  ever  seem 
An  unsubstantial  pageant  vast,  — 

A  dreamer's  idle  dream,  — 

Becomes  as  solid  to  my  soul 

As  is  the  earth  I  tread, 
What  time  I  walk  with  reverent  feet 

The  city  of  the  dead. 

Not  Europe  seems  so  real  to  me, 

The  Alps  not  so  eterne, 
As  that  dear  land  for  which  at  times 

My  heart  doth  inly  burn. 


THREE  HAPPY  SOULS.  141 

And  not  so  sure  am  I  that  whom 

The  Atlantic's  waves  divide 
Will  meet  again  some  happy  day, 

And  linger  side  by  side, 

As  that  the  day  shall  surely  come 

When  I  with  all  I  love 
Shall  meet  again,  and  clasp  and  kiss, 

In  that  dear  land  above. 

May,  1870. 

THREE    HAPPY    SOULS. 


RARE  sweet  day  of  June  !     What  is  it  gives 
To  thy  dear  rapture  a  diviner  power  ? 

It  is  that  I  have  seen  three  happy  souls, 
All  in  the  fleeting  of  a  single  hour. 


One  was  a  maiden,  with  forereaching  sense 

Feeling  amid  the  lustre  of  her  hair 
The  fragrant  blossoms  of  that  wifely  crown 

Which,  when  June  days  are  longest,  she  will  wear. 

And  all  her  thoughts  were  going  to  and  fro, 
And  building  from  that  blessed  day  and  hour 

A  nest  wherein  her  heart  already  sang 

Sweet  songs  of  home  and  love's  eternal  power. 


I42  THREE  HAPPY  SOULS. 

One  was  a  mother,  and  her  babe,  new-born 

Lay  on  her  arm  and  murmured  'gainst  her  heart 

Something  that  had  no  need  of  words  to  tell 
The  mystic  meaning  it  would  fain  impart. 

She  understood.     God  had  revealed  Himself 
Once  more,  as  in  the  manger-nest  of  old ; 

She,  too,  had  seen  the  Father,  full  of  grace,  — 
Did  even  then  Him  to  her  bosom  hold. 

And  these  were  happy.     But  the  happiest 
Was  one  who  waited  for  a  voice  to  say, 

"  Friend,  come  up  higher."  Fearing  only  this  : 
That  he  might  be  too  willing  to  obey. 

For  pain  had  worked  on  him  its  perfect  will, 

And  weaned  him  quite  from  all  our  earthly  ways, 

And  it  was  joy  to  think  of  rest  at  last 
And  the  long  quiet  of  the  heavenly  days. 

The  maiden  love  had  found,  the  mother  life ; 

He  had  found  both  in  finding  death  alone  ; 
And,  as  the  bridegroom  murmurs  to  the  bride. 

Murmured  his  heart,   "  My  Beautiful,  my  own  !  " 

Oh,  think  not  that  with  fancies  sweet  and  fond 
He  cheated  his  poor  heart  to  false  repose  ! 

Our  bravest  hopes  are  shadows  vague  and  cold 
Of  better  things  the  Spirit  only  knows. 


THE    TWO    WAITINGS.  143 

The  child  shall  grow  apace  ;  the  bridal  wreath 
Shall  win  a  costlier  beauty  and  perfume  ; 

While  he  whom  we  call  dead  shall  work  and  wait 
In  other  gardens  of  perennial  bloom. 

Brooklyn,  June,  1S72. 


THE   TWO   WAITINGS. 


EAR  hearts,  you  were  waiting  a  year  ago 
For  the  glory  to  be  revealed  ; 
You  were  wondering  deeply,  with  bated  breath, 
What  treasure  the  days  concealed. 


Oh,  would  it  be  this,  or  would  it  be  that  ? 

Would  it  be  girl  or  boy  ? 
Would  it  look  like  father  or  mother  most  ? 

And  what  should  you  do  for  joy  ? 

And  then  one  day,  when  the  time  was  full, 
And  the  spring  was  coming  fast, 

The  tender  grace  of  a  life  out-bloomed, 
And  you  saw  your  baby  at  last. 


I  44  THE    TWO    WAITINGS. 

Was  it,  or  not,  what  you  had  dreamed? 

It  was.  and  yet  it  was  not ; 
But,  oh  !  it  was  better  a  thousand  times 

Than  ever  you  wished  or  thought 


II. 


And  now,  dear  hearts,  you  are  waiting  again, 
While  the  spring  is  coming  fast  ; 

For  the  baby  that  was  a  future  dream 
Is  now  a  dream  of  the  past ; 

A  dream  of  sunshine,  and  all  that's  sweet ; 

Of  all  that  is  pure  and  bright ; 
Of  eyes  that  were  blue  as  the  sky  by  day, 

And  as  soft  as  the  stars  by  night. 

You  are  waiting  again  for  the  fulness  of  time. 

And  the  glory  to  be  revealed  ; 
You  are  wondering  deeply,  with  aching  hearts. 

What  treasure  is  now  concealed. 

Oh,  will  she  be  this,  or  will  she  be  that  ? 

And  what  will  there  be  in  her  face 
That  will  tell  you  sure  that  she  is  your  <>wn 

When  you  meet  in  the  heavenly  pl.i. 


WHERE  t 

As  it  was  before,  it  will  be  again, 
Fashion  your  dream  as  you  will  ; 

When  the  veil  is  rent,  and  the  glory  is  seen, 
It  will  more  than  your  hope  fulfil. 


145 


April,  1S73. 


WHERE  ? 


HAT  is  her  body  lying  there, 

So  sweetly  still, 
As  if  but  sleep  had  worked  thereon 
Its  perfect  will. 

The  violets  strewn  about  her  seem 

To  haunt  her  rest ; 
And,  as  in  dreams,  she  clasps  the  rose 

Upon  her  breast. 

How  strange  it  is  we  are  so  sure 

She  is  not  there, 
Though  all  her  precious  outwardness 

Is  still  so  fair ! 

For  we  have  seen  her  just  as  still 

Full  oft  before  ; 
But  now  we  know  those  drowsy  lids 

Will  ope  no  more. 

J 


146  WHERE? 

She  is  not  there  ;  and,  if  not  there, 

Where  must  she  be  ? 
Elsewhere  or  nowhere,  that  at  least 

Our  thought  can  see. 

Nowhere  ?     But  then  —  oh,  shallow  thought !  - 

S/ie  is  no  more. 
The  most  has  perished,  but  the  least 

Is  as  before. 

This  cannot  perish  ;  this  may  change 

From  form  to  form  ; 
In  grass  and  blossom  reaching  up 

To  sun  and  storm. 

A  thousand  summers  shall  grow  pale 

Through  all  the  land, 
And  still  her  precious  dust  shall  lie 

In  God's  right  hand  • 

And,  lying  there,  shall  take  the  shape 

He  thinketh  best, 
But  never  lovelier  than  is  now 

On  it  impressed. 

And  shall  the  garment  that  she  wore 
Exist  so  long, 

And  she  that  wore  it  be  —  as  is 
An  ended  song  ? 


WHERE?  l47 

An  ended  song  ?     But  even  that 

Is  somewhere  still, 
It  doth  the  heart  with  burden  sweet 

Of  memory  fill. 

May  not  her  Somewhere  be  as  much 

As  that;  no  more? 
To  walk  in  dream-land  up  and  down 

A  sobbing  shore  ? 

To  live  in  deeds,  for  her  dear  sake 

Made  pure  and  true  ; 
In  great  aspirings  that  from  her 

Their  being  drew. 

But  that  which  lieth  there,  so  still, 

In  grass  and  flower 
Shall  live  again,  nor  less  for  that 

Be  memory's  dower. 

And  shall  the  mask  she  wore  have  thus 

A  twofold  life, 
And  she  that  wore  it  only  live 

Where  thought  is  rife  ? 

And  so  from  Nowhere  back  my  heart 

Returns  in  glee  ; 
She  is  not  there,  since,  having  been, 

She  still  must  be. 


14?  WHERE  t 

But,  oh  !  how  vast  and  dim  appears 

That  Elsewhere  land, 
Where  she,  with  others  gone  before, 

Walks  hand  in  hand  ! 

My  thought  goes  forth  to  seek  her  there, 

But  soon  returns, 
Dazed  by  that  rose  of  light  wherein 

Her  spirit  burns. 

Content  to  leave  her  there  in  peace 

With  her  dear  God, 
It  wanders  in  the  earthly  paths 

Her  feet  have  trod. 

Then  from  her  high  and  holy  place, 

Full  soon  I  know, 
Her  thought  sweeps  down,  my  thought  to  meet 

With  music  low. 

With  such  sweet  trysts  as  these  my  soul 

Can  be  content, 
Until  my  soul  with  hers  again 

In  heaven  is  blent. 

If  thou  in  thy  new  home  canst  be 

As  patient,  Sweet, 
Our  days  will  be  most  happy  till 

Again  we  meet. 


THEIR    THOUGHTS  ft*    OUR    THOUGHTS.      1 49 


THEIR   THOUGHTS    AND  OUR   THOUGHTS. 

F.     A.     B.     AXD    J.     E.     C. 

IX  years  have  faded  since  she  went  away, 
Six  years  for  her  to  live  in  heavenly  places, 
^  To  learn  the  look  of  blessed  angel  faces  ;  ' 
Six  years  to  grow  as  only  angels  may. 

I  wonder  oft  what  she  is  doing  there, 
By  the  still  waters  that  for  ever  flow ; 
What  mighty  secrets  she  has  come  to'  know; 

What  graces  won,  divinely  sweet  and  fair. 

I  wonder  who  of  those  that  went  before, 

And  those  that  followed  on  her  shining  way, 
She  has  met  there  in  heaven's  auroral  day,  ' 

And  if  they  talk  their  earth  life  o'er  and  o'er! 

I  think  this  very  morning  they  are  met, 
She  and  one  other  only  three  years  gone 
In  some  dear  place  in  heaven  secure  and  lone 

1  o  talk  of  things  they  never  can  forget. 


150     THEIR    THOUGHTS  &   OUR    THOUGHTS. 

For  I  am  sure  that  naught  of  their  new  life, 
No  grace  or  glory  that  is  there  revealed, 
The  fountains  of  past  love  has  ever  sealed  ;  — 

That  these  will  ever  be  with  sweetness  rife. 

I  cannot  think  of  them  as  they  are  now, 

Of  the  new  light  that  shines  upon  their  faces  \ 
I  cannot  image  forth  their  angel  graces ; 

And  I  am  glad,  so  glad,  that  it  is  so. 

We  shall  get  used  to  such  things  by  and  by ; 

The  angels  will  not  miss  the  look  they  wore ; 

For  us  they  wear  the  look  they  wore  before ; 
No  other  look  with  that,  for  us,  can  vie. 

So  we  will  think  of  them  just  as  they  were, 

Their  voices  sweet  and  all  their  pleasant  ways ; 
And  thoughts  like  these  shall  help  us  through 
the  days 

Until  we  go  to  meet  them  where  they  are. 

MARBLEHEAD,   July,    1S72. 


WITH  A   BOOK   OF  BALLADS,  151 

WITH   A   BOOK   OF   BALLADS. 

"  The  time  is  short." 

WEET  wife,  no  ballad,  when  our  days  are  o'er, 
Shall  tell  the  story  of  our  peace  and  pain  ; 
One  little  grave  shall  hold  our  common  dust, 
And  feel  the  fresh'ning  of  the  summer  rain. 

A  few  short  years,  mayhap,  our  names  shall  live 
In  children's  voices,  or  their  children's  sweet ; 

Then  all  shall  be  as  if  we  had  not  known 
This  joy  of  life  which  is  so  strange  and  fleet. 

Yet  none  the  less,  so  long  as  life  shall  last, 
We  will  drink  deep  of  joy's  eternal  spring ; 

Ay,  live  as  if  this  life  must  be  our  all,  — 
As  if  swift  death  would  sleep  eternal  bring. 

The  time  is  short ;  the  more  the  reason  then 

For  filling  it  as  full  as  it  can  hold 
With  thrills  of  beauty,  yearnings  for  the  truth, 

And  joys  of  love  and  labor  manifold. 

Then  should  it  chance,  as  we  would  fain  believe, 

Life's  glory  waits  us  in  some  other  sphere, 
Its  first  great  joy  shall  be  we  did  not  miss 
God's  meaning  in  the  glory  that  is  here. 
186S. 


1 5  2  RECOGNITION. 


RECOGNITION. 


j^HEN  souls  that  have  put  off  their  mortal  gear 
Stand  in  the  pure,  sweet  light  of  heaven's 

day, 

And  wondering  deeply  what  to  do  or  say, 
And  trembling  more  with  rapture  than  with 
fear, 
Desire  some  token  of  their  friends  most  dear, 

Who  there  some  time  have  made  their  happy  stay, 
And  much  have  longed  for  them  to  come  that  way, 
What  shall  it  be,  this  sign  of  hope  and  cheer? 
Shall  it  be  tone  of  voice  or  glance  of  eye  ? 
Shall  it  be  touch  of  hand  or  gleam  of  hair 
Blown  back  from  spirit-brows  by  heaven's  air,  — 
Things  which  of  old  we  knew  our  dearest  by  ? 
Oh,  naught  of  this  ;  but,  if  our  love  is  true, 
Some  secret  sense  shall  cry,  Tis  you  and  —  you  ! 

May,  1S76. 


IDENTITY.  153 


IDENTITY. 

pW  shall  I  know  myself  when  I  have  come 
To  that  strange  land  beyond  the  sea  of  death, 
Ere  the  first  voice  that  speaks  with  heavenly 
breath 
Shall,  out  of  all  the  sweet  and  murmurous  hum, 
Call  me  by  name  ?     How  know  ere  I  am  known 
That  I  am  he  who  once  in  other  spheres 
Drank  to  the  lees  so  many  golden  years 
And  called  so  many  loving  hearts  my  own  ? 
Doubtless,  my  God,  in  ways  I  cannot  guess, 

Thou  wilt  reveal  me  to  my  doubting  sense  ; 
But,  O  my  love,  the  sign  that  most  shall  bless, 

And  bring  the  swiftest,  surest  confidence, 
Shall  be  that  in  my  inmost  heart  I  find 
The  thought  of  thee  so  lovingly  enshrined. 


May,  1876. 


TIMES    AND    SEASONS. 


INVOCATION. 

Everlasting,  Holy  One ! 

Many  a  well-beloved  son 

Tlion  dost  choose  like  him  of  old, 

For  Thy  truth's  sake  to  be  bold. 

Not  by  any  outward  sign 

Dost  Thou  show  Thy  will  divine  ; 

Deep  within  Thy  voice  doth  cry, 

And  our  spirits  make  reply. 

Lo,  we  stand  before  Thee  now, 
And  the  silent  inward  vow 
Thou  hast  heard,  in  that  profound, 
Where  is  neither  voice  nor  sound  ; 
Thou  hast  heard,  and  Thou  wilt  bless 
With  Thy  might  and  tenderness  ; 
We  have  come  to  do  Thy  will  ; 
With  Thy  love  our  spirits  fill. 


TIMES     AND     SEASONS. 


ANOTHER   YEAR. 

HAT  this  shall  be  a  better  year 

Than  any  passed  away, 
I  dare  not  at  its  open  door 
To  wish  or  hope  or  pray. 

Not  that  the  years  already  gone 
Were  wearisome  and  lone ; 

That  so  with  hope  too  long  deferred 
My  heart  has  timid  grown. 

Nay,  rather  that  they  all  have  been 

So  sweet  to  me  and  good, 
That  if  for  better  I  should  ask 

'Twould  seem  ingratitude. 

And  so  with  things  far  off  and  strange 

I  do  not  care  to  cope, 
But  look  in  Memory's  face  and  learn 

What  largess  I  may  hope. 


*58  ANOTHER    YEAR. 

Another  year  of  setting  suns, 
Of  stars  by  night  revealed, 

Of  springing  grass,  of  tender  buds 
By  Winter's  snow  concealed. 

Another  year  of  Summer's  glow, 
Of  Autumn's  gold  and  brown, 

Of  waving  fields,  and  ruddy  fruit 
The  branches  weighing  down. 

Another  year  of  happy  work, 

That  better  is  than  play  ; 
Of  simple  cares,  and  love  that  grows 

More  sweet  from  day  to  day. 

Another  year  of  baby  mirth 
And  childhood's  blessed  ways, 

Of  thinker's  thought  and  prophet's  dream 
And  poet's  tender  lavs. 

Another  year  at  Beauty's  feast, 

At  every  moment  spread, 
Of  silent  hours  when  grow  distinct 

The  voices  of  the  dead. 

Another  year  to  follow  hard 
Where  better  souls  have  trod  ; 

Another  year  of  life's  delight, 
Another  year  of  God. 

Brooklyn,  January  r,  187  j. 


EASTER  MORNEXG.  159 


EASTER    MORNING. 

GENTLE  tumult  in  the  earth, 

A  murmur  in  the  trees, 
An  odor  faint,  but  passing  sweet, 
Upon  the  morning  breeze,  — 
The  heralds  these,  whom  thou  dost  send, 

Dear  Spring,  that  we  may  know 
How  soon  the  land,  from  side  to  side, 
Shall  with  thy  beauty  glow. 

And  'tis  by  tokens  faint  as  these, 

O  Truth,  that  makest  free  ! 
That  thou  dost  give  assurance  strong 

Of  better  things  to  be  : 
Of  higher  faith  and  holier  trust ; 

Of  love  more  deep  and  wide  ; 
Of  hope,  whose  anchor  shall  not  break, 

Whatever  storms  betide  ! 

O  Truth  of  God,  it  is  not  ours 

Thy  Summer  to  foretell, 
Nor  ours  to  taste  the  fruit  which  now 

Doth  in  the  blossom  swell ; 


160  A    FESTIVAL   HYMN. 

But  we  are  glad,  and  free  of  heart, 
That  we  Thy  Spring  have  known  : 

Well  speed  the  days  whose  sweetest  praise 
Is  to  be  called  Thine  own. 

1876. 


HYMN. 

Suiig  at  a  Festival  of  the  Free  Religions  Association. 
"Oh,  how  I  love  Thv  law !  " 


AT  HER,  we  come  not  as  of  old, 
Distrustful  of  Thy  Law, 
Hoping  to  find  Thy  seamless  robe 
Marred  by  some  sudden  flaw, — 
Some  rent  to  let  Thy  glory  through 

And  make  our  darkness  shine. 
If  haply  thus  our  souls  may  know 
What  power  and  grace  are  Thine. 

Thy  seamless  robe  conceals  Thee  not 

From  earnest  hearts  and  true  j 
The  glory  of  Thy  perfectness 

Shines  all  its  lexluiv  through  j 


1874- 


<',   •   '•.. 


A    PICNIC  SO  AG.  161 

And  on  its  trailing  hem  we  read, 

As  Thou  dost  linger  near, 
The  message  of  a  love  more  deep 

Than  any  depth  of  fear. 

And  so  no  more  our  hearts  shall  plead 

For  miracle  and  sign  ; 
Thy  order  and  Thy  faithfulness 

Are  all  in  all  divine: 
These  are  Thy  revelations  vast 

From  earliest  days  of  yore  \ 
These  are  our  confidence  and  peace  ; 

We  cannot  wish  for  more. 


A   PICNIC   SONG. 

IpfWV  swift  the  merry  months  have  sped 
Since  we  together  stood, 
By  happy  inspiration  led, 
Amid  the  gay  green  wood ! 
How  sweet  to  gather  once  again, 

And  taste,  with  sounding  mirth, 
With  every  sense  as  keen  as  then,' 
The  beauty  of  the  earth  ! 


1 62  A    PICNIC  SONG. 

The  freshness  of  the  blooming  fields, 

The  splendor  of  the  sky, 
Are  prophecies  which  Summer  yields 

That  God  is  ever  nigh  \ 
They  tell  us  that  in  joyful  mood 

He  made  both  land  and  sea \ 
That  in  such  mood  His  children  should 

His  fellow-workers  be. 

Then  who  can  time  for  sighs  afford  ? 

Let  all  the  children  make 
A  joyful  noise  unto  the  Lord, 

And  sweetest  comfort  take. 
And  let  us  all  in  love  unite 

To  make  this  fleeting  day 
A  blessing  that  shall  still  be  bright 

When  years  have  passed  away. 

Eagleswood,  N.J. 


A    SONG  FOR    THE  HARVEST.  163 


A   SONG   FOR   THE   HARVEST. 

I^MJOME,  list  to  a  song  for  the  Harvest : 
[|||p        Thanksgiving  and  honor  and  praise 
%^-^M  For  all  that  the  bountiful  Giver 

Hath  given  to  gladden  our  days. 

For  the  grain  and  the  corn  in  their  plenty, 
For  the  grapes  that  were  gathered  with  song ; 

For  pumpkins  so  brave  with  their  yellow, 
They  had  lived  upon  sunbeams  so  long; 

For  cranberries  down  in  the  meadow, 

And  the  buckwheat  that  flames  on  the  hill, 

And  blueberries  tempting  the  children 
To  wander  and  pick  them  at  will ; 

For  the  peaches  that  blush  through  their  pallor, 

Or  glow  like  a  pretty  quadroon, 
As  they  dream  of  the  sun  in  the  morning, 

Or  welcome  his  kisses  at  noon  : 


1 64  A   SONG   FOR    THE  HARVEST. 

For  the  sweet-smelling  hay  and  the  clover, 
That  sweeten  the  breath  of  the  kine  ; 

And  the  apples  that  lingered,  as  dreading 
The  air  and  the  light  to  resign. 

And  not  for  the  fruit-harvest  only 
We  offer  our  thanks  and  our  praise ; 

Not  less  have  the  leaves  and  the  blossoms 
Made  better  and  brighter  the  days. 

The  leaves  that  delight  with  their  greenness, 
That  soften  the  heat  with  their  shade, 

And  rustle  so  crisply  in  Autumn, 
To  startle  the  lover  and  maid. 

For  the  blossoms  that  whiten  in  May-time 
The  ground,  as  with  snow,  as  they  fall ; 

For  the  flowerets  that  whisper  their  meanings 
In  cottage  and  hovel  and  hall. 

Ay,  thanks  for  the  harvest  of  Beauty! 

For  that  which  the  hands  cannot  hold  ! 
The  harvest  eyes  only  can  gather, 

Which  only  our  hearts  can  enfold  ! 

We  have  reaped  it  on  mountain  and  moorland 
We  have  gleaned  it  from  meadow  and  lea  ; 

We  have  garnered  it  in  from  the  cloudlands  ; 
We  have  bound  it  in  sheaves  from  the  .sea. 


i87i 


A    SOXG   FOR    THE   HARVEST.  1 65 

And  thanks  that  the  whole  of  the  harvest 

Is  not  for  the  children  of  men  ; 
That  the  birds  and  the  beasts  are  remembered, 

The  dwellers  in  river  and  fen  ; 

That  He  giveth  them  meat  in  due  season, 
And  heareth  their  cry  when  they  call,  — 

The  tiniest,  weakest  among  them, 
The  hugest  and  strongest  of  all. 

But  the  song  it  goes  deeper  and  higher ; 

There  are  harvests  which  eye  cannot  see  : 
They  ripen  on  mountains  of  Duty, 

They  are  reaped  by  the  brave  and  the  free. 

And  these  have  been  gathered  and  garnered  ; 

Some  golden  with  honor  and  gain, 
And  some  as  with  heart's-blood  made  ruddy, 

The  harvests  of  sorrow  and  pain. 

Alas,  for  our  pitiful  singing ! 

For  all  it  has  lasted  so  long, 
The  half  of  our  rapture  and  wonder 

Has  not  been  expressed  in  our  song. 

But  He  who  is  Lord  of  the  Harvest  — 
The  Giver  who  gladdens  our  days  — 

Will  know  if  our  hearts  are  repeating. 
Thanksgiving  and  honor  and  praise. 


1 66  BEFORE   CHRISTMAS. 


BEFORE   CHRISTMAS. 


HE  Christmas-time  draws  on  apace  ; 

The  happy  crowds  go  up  and  down  ; 

There's  joy  and  hope  in  all  the  town  ; 
And  in  each  little  maiden's  face 


A  look  of  expectation  sweet, 

That  comes  of  musing  oft  and  long 
On  what  that  day  of  gift  and  song 

Shall  bring  to  her  as  offering  meet. 

But  I  will  sit  alone  and  dream 

Of  Him  who  gave  the  day  its  name  ; 
And  think  of  all  His  wondrous  fame, 

And  if  to  Him  it  strange  doth  seem 

That  in  these  happy,  careless  ways, 
As  often  as  the  years  come  round, 

We  mark  with  light,  and  joyful  sound, 

His  advent  and  His  toilsome  days. 


1869. 


BEFORE    CHRISTMAS.  167 

And  deeper  still  my  thoughts  shall  go, 
And  ponder  if  He  hears  above, 
'Mid  all  the  heavenly  peace  and  love, 

Our  weary  talking  to  and  fro  ■ 

Our  asking  how  it  all  began, 

And  what  the  secret  of  His  power, 
That  since  He  came  until  this  hour, 

The  world  has  said,  "  Behold  the  man  !  " 

Behold  the  man  !     Behold  the  God  ! 

Ah,  which  to  say,  and  how,  and  why  ! 

In  vain  our  tangled  reasons  try 
The  path  so  many  feet  have  trod. 

O  man  of  sorrows,  man  of  joy  !  — 
Of  joy  for  all  Thy  strife  and  scars,  — 
YVhereso  Thou  art  among  the  stars, 

In  peace  that  nothing  can  destroy,  — 

Though  we  our  voices  may  not  blend 

With  that  hoarse  chant  the  centuries  raise, 
Yet  is  it  not  a  sweeter  praise 

To  say,  "  Our  brother  and  our  friend  "  ? 

And  if  beyond  this  verge  of  time, 
We  know  Thee  better  as  Thou  art, 
Wilt  Thou  not  clasp  us  heart  to  heart, 

As  fills  our  ears  the  heavenly  chime  ? 


1 68  THE   CHILDREN'S   CHRISTMAS. 


THE   CHILDREN'S    CHRISTMAS. 


EAR  friends  and  little  children  all, 
Thrice  welcome  to  our  Christmas  ball ! 
For  'tis  a  ball,  and  not  a  tree, 
Your  eyes  can  very  plainly  see. 

"  A  Christmas  ball  ?     Strange  Christmas  cheer  !  " 

Some  one  exclaims  who  isn't  here, 

When  first  upon  his  ear  shall  fall 

The  news  of  this  our  Christmas  ball. 

"  A  Christmas  ball  and  in  a  church  ! 

This  leaves  my  notions  in  the  lurch. 

I've  heard  of  balls  when  princes  come 

To  see  Americans  at  home  ; 

.And  there  is  one  whene'er  the  Japs 

Come  over  with  their  funny  traps  : 

And  firemen's  balls  are  always  plenty, 

And  leap-year  balls,  —  I've  been  to  twenty, 

More  or  less,  —  and  cattle-show 

Most  always  ends  with  one,  you  know; 

Bui  such  a  thing  at  Christmas  time 

Is  worse  in  reason  than  in  rhyme. 


THE   CHILDREN'S  CHRISTMAS.  169 

"  And  in  a  church  !     I  wonder  what 

John  Calvin  would  have  said  to  that ! 

I  guess  he  would  have  made  a  face 

At  such  a  use  of  such  a  place. 

That  '  David  danced  before  the  Lord  ' 

Doth  no  good  precedent  afford, 

For  that  was  in  the  times  of  old,  — 

'The  good  old  times,'  '  the  age  of  gold,'  — 

And  things  that  now  seem  dreadful  bad 

Were  then  —  the  best  that  could  be  had/' 

E'en  so  perchance  would  fume  away 
Some  uninstructed  Mr.  A. 
Entirely  in  the  dark,  you  see, 
Where  all  is  plain  to  you  and  me. 
If  he  the  facts  could  all  discover, 
No  doubt  he  would  at  once  recover, 
And  say  it  wasn't  bad  at  all, 
This  notion  of  a  Christmas  ball ; 
Though  all  the  dancing  it  implies 
Is  the  dear  joy-dance  in  your  eyes. 

And  what  for  us  shall  signify 
This  little  world  that  from  on  high 
Descends,  with  gifts  and  tapers  bright, 
To  meet  our  wonder  and  delight  ? 
This  little  world  ?     Ay,  there  I  find 
A  meaning  suited  to  my  mind, 


I/O  THE   CHILDREN'S  CHRISTMAS. 

And  that  will  help  explain  this  rout 
Of  things  all  scattered  here  about, 
As  if  this  were  the  very  track 
Old  Santa  travels  with  his  pack, 
And  he  had  shed  them  as  he  went 
And  left  them  here  for  our  content. 

You  know  (the  biggest  of  you  do) 
'Tis  said —  and  I  suppose  it's  true  — 
That  all  the  stars  that  gem  the  sky, 
And  every  night  go  trooping  by, 
Were  once,  long  since,  one  mighty  world 
Through  space  with  swiftest  motion  hurled, 
And  flinging  off  from  time  to  time, 
Just  as  a  poet  does  a  rhyme, 
A  star,  henceforth  to  go  its  way. 
Companion  of  the  night  and  day. 
'Tis  said  the  stars  this  striking  merit 
From  the  parental  mass  inherit : 
As  soon  as  they  are  fairly  "out," 
They  take  to  flinging  things  about  ; 
And  all  the  worlds  that  people  space 
Were  flung,  it  seems,  into  their  place. 

And  so  if  I  could  dream  a  dream, 
Which  like  a  solid  fact  would  seem, 
Twould  be  that  from  this  mimic  world 
All  of  these  gifts  had  straight  been  hurled, 


THE   CHILDREN'S  CHRISTMAS.  171 

And  yet —  O  marvel  to  be  spoken  !  — 
Not  one  of  all  your  heads  is  broken. 

O  little  world,  thou  hast  for  me 
A  word  of  deeper  mystery ! 
O  little  world,  shine  clear  and  bright 
Until  I  read  your  meaning  right ! 
Gift-laden,  to  our  hearts  rehearse 
How  God's  gift-laden  universe 
Shines  ever  fair  and  ever  bright 
With  love  and  comfort  and  delight. 

This  little  pageant,  well  I  know, 
Inspired  by  love  did  sweetly  grow; 
And  well  I  know  the  pageant  vast, 
All  beautiful  from  first  to  last, 
Of  worlds  on  worlds  in  phalanx  deep, 
From  suns  that  blaze  to  vines  that  creep, 
From  planets  singing  on  their  way 
To  flowers  that  dread  the  eye  of  day, 
From  rivers  that  rejoicing  go 
To  brooks  that  murmur  sweet  and  low, 
From  genius,  with  its  years  of  fame, 
To  simple  lives  devoid  of  blame,  — 
Oh,  well  I  know  this  pageant  fair 
Is  proof  of  love  beyond  compare  ! 

O  Love,  that  dost  with  goodness  crown 
The  years  through  all  the  ages  down  ! 


1 72  THE    CHILDREN'S   CHRISTMAS. 

Tis  in  Thy  strength  the  mountains  stand, 
The  seasons  roll  at  Thy  command, 
And  rooted  are  all  things  that  bless 
Deep  in  Thy  everlastingness. 
The  pith  of  all  our  Christmas  cheer 
Is  that  Thy  life  is  ever  near; 
Within  Thy  circling  arms  we  lie, 
Lapped  in  Thy  great  infinity. 

All  praise  and  honor  to  His  name, 
Who,  spite  of  taunt  and  cruel  shame, 
Was  brave  to  teach,  as  wise  to  know, 
That  these  great  things  are  surely  so. 
For  this  our  loving  court  we  pay 
At  His  dear  feet  on  Christmas  day  ; 
Tor  this  through  all  the  coming  years, 
In  all  our  joys  and  hopes  and  fears, 
We  still  will  pay  Him  reverence  clue, 
And  in  His  witness,  brave  and  true, 
Hear  echoes  clear,  through  all  the  din, 
Of  that  deep  voice  which  speaks  within. 

But  while  I  speak  the  tapers  waste 
And  little  hearts  are  all  in  haste 
To  know  what  token,  simple-sweet, 
[s  soon  their  happy  eyes  to  greet. 
A  merry  Christmas,  then,  to  all  ! 
And,  when  at  length  our  Christmas  ball 


GRACE  BEFORE   MEAT.  173 

Shall  into  darkness  fade  again, 
Long  in  our  hearts  may  it  retain 
The  beauty  that  it  wears  to-day, 
To  light  and  cheer  us  on  our  way. 

Brooklyn,  1872. 


GRACE   BEFORE   MEAT. 

GAIN  the  Christmas  board  is  spread, 
Again  we  gather  round  \ 
And  thanks  too  deep  for  words  go  up 
To  God  without  a  sound. 


Thanks  for  the  common  blessings  first, 

The  commonest  of  all, 
The  daily  bread,  the  manna  sweet, 

That  never  fails  to  fall,  — 

The  daily  bread,  the  daily  joy, 
The  greeting  morn  and  eve, 

The  kiss  of  love,  the  kiss  of  peace, 
Which  daily  we  receive. 

And  if  with  all  the  joy  He  sends 

Some  grief  is  also  there, 
We  praise  Him  still  that  He  doth  give 

The  patience  that  can  bear,  — 


174  GRACE  BEFORE  MEAT. 

Can  bear,  and  through  the  bearing  find, 

Within  the  hardest  lot, 
Some  hidden  grace  which  none  may  know 

Save  those  who  have  it  got. 

But  shall  this  merry  time  go  past, 

And  thanks  remain  unsped 
For  Him  who  said  so  long  ago, 

"  I  am  the  living  Bread  \ " 

For  Him,  star-lit  by  Mary's  smile, 
Whom  simple  shepherds  found, 

And  wise  men  from  the  brooding  East, 
Where  oxen  stood  around  ? 

No  wonder  that  they  worshipped  Him  ! 

He  was  a  baby  sweet ; 
They  had  been  foolish  not  to  kneel 

And  kiss  His  rosy  feet. 

But  little  recked  they  as  He  lay 

In  such  a  lowly  place, 
That  He  should  be  the  Man  of  men, 

The  captain  of  His  race. 

We  differ  when  we  speak  of  Him, 
Our  words  are  not  the  same, 

But  in  our  heart  there  burns  for  aye 
One  undivided  flame. 


i873- 


ANNUS  MIRABILIS.  175 

Our  words  must  differ,  but  our  hearts 

Still  yield  Him  reverence  due ; 
We  love  in  spite  of  all  our  creeds ; 

Our  love  at  least  is  true. 

And  if,  above  the  starry  skies, 

He  knows  of  what  is  here, 
He  knows  there  is  a  place  for  Him 

At  all  our  Christmas  cheer. 


ANNUS    MIRABILIS. 


HAT  year  of  all  Thy  years,  O  Father  mine, 
Is  not  more  wonderful  than  words  can  say 
The  starry  night,  the  splendor  of  the  day  - 
Are  not,  all  years,  these  benefactions  thine  ? 
Doth  not  each  spring  reveal  a  life  divine, 
Each  summer  nourish  with  unstinted  ray, 
Each  autumn  make  the  leafy  woodlands  gay, 
And  load  with  clusters  every  clinging  vine  ? 
Doth  not  each  winter  make  the  silent  stars 
Into  more  awful  spaces  seem  withdrawn, 


176  ANNUS  MIR  A  BI LIS. 

And  deck  with  softer  radiance  the  cars 

That  speed  the  sunset  and  bring  back  the  dawn, 
And  over  hill  and  valley  slow  unfold 
A  vesture  rarer  than  were  cloth  of  £old  ? 


11. 


And  yet,  O  God !  the  half  has  not  been  told. 
I  have  not  named  the  rapture  of  delight 
When  new-born  spirits  break  upon  our  sight ; 

When  love,  at  first  so  timid,  groweth  bold, 

And  all  the  highest  heavens  seem  unrolled, 
That  we  may  read  in  characters  of  light 
Of  days  to  which  succeeds  no  dark'ning  night ; 

But  the  night  cometh  drearily  and  cold. 

Yet  is  death  wonderful  as  well  as  life, 
And  wonderful  the  hope  of  life  in  store, 

And  wonderful  all  labor  and  all  strife 

For  better  things  than  e'er  have  been  before. 

\  ea,  God,  the  wonder  of  thy  humblest  years 

Fills  all  my  soul  with  laughter  and  with  tears. 

hi.'  EMBER   31,    1S74. 


INSTALLATION  HYMN.  1/7 

HYMN 
For  a  Friend's  Installation. 

ACKWARD  looking  o'er  the  past, 
Forward  too  with  eager  gaze, 
Stand  we  here  to-night,  O  God  ! 
At  the  parting  of  the  ways. 

Tenderest  thoughts  our  bosoms  fill ; 

Memories  all  bright  and  fair 
Seem  to  float  on  spirit-wings 

Downward  through  the  silent  air. 

Hark  !  through  all  their  music  sweet 

Hear  you  not  a  voice  of  cheer  ? 
'Tis  the  voice  of  Hope  which  sings  : 

Happy  be  the  coming  year  ! 

Father,  comes  that  voice  from  Thee  ; 

Swells  it  with  Thy  meaning  vast  : 
Good  in  all  the  future  stored  ; 

Good  evolved  from  all  the  Past. 

Lo,  Thy  messenger  is  come, 

Burdened  with  this  word  divine  ! 

He  Thy  New  Year's  gift  to  us ; 
May  He  make  us  wholly  Thine  ! 
8*  L 


i;8 


A    VALENTINE. 


Servant  of  the  living  God, 

Come  and  let  us  work  with  Thee, 

For  the  Love  that  faileth  not, 
For  the  Truth  that  maketh  free. 
January  i,  1S73. 

A   VALENTINE. 


THOU  that  comest  from  the  mystic  East, 
With  caskets  full  of  gold  and  spicery, 

Keep  not  their  treasure  all  for  him  alone 
To  whom  thy  heart  is  pledged  in  fealty  ; 

But  sometimes  fling  thy  largess  all  abroad, 
That  with  thy  lord  we  may  rejoice  in  thee. 

Sing  to  thy  nest  thy  tenderest,  sweetest  song, 
But  nurse  some  strain  to  gladden  us  at  times 

When  we  are  sick  with  longing  to  be  stilled 
By  some  dear  poet's  music-breathing  rhymes, 

That  on  our  mind  and  sense  more  grateful  fall 
Than  sound  far  heard  of  old  cathedral  chimes. 

What  thou  shalt  sing  —  thy  heart  shall  teach  thee  that, 
Quick-beating  with  its  unimagined  bliss : 

A  song  to  wean  us  from  all  ether  worlds 
Till  we  fiave  learned  how  wonderful  is  this. 

Lady,  let  such  a  song  as  this  be  thine, 
And  all  our  hearts  shall  be  thy  Valentine. 

BRO  IKLYN,    1S76. 


CATCHING   SUNSHINE.  179 


CATCHING    SUNSHINE. 

V  next  door  neighbor's  little  girl, 

A  cunning  two-year-old, 
Wondered  one  day  why  drooped  her  flowers, 
And  pleaded  to  be  told. 

Then  said  her  mamma,  "  Here  in-doors 

The  sunshine  doesn't  come 
To  warm  and  bless  and  gladden  them, 

And  make  them  feel  at  home." 

Next  morning  when  she  went  to  seek 

Her  darling  at  her  play, 
She  found  her  standing  in  the  sun 

In  just  the  queerest  way  ; 

For  there  she  held  aloft  a  cup 

Above  her  pretty  head. 
14  What  are  you  doing,  Lolo  clear  ?  " 

Mamma,  astonished,  said. 


l8o  CATCHING  SUNSHINE. 

And  she,  her  cup  still  held  aloft,  — 
Bless  her,  ye  Heavenly  Powers  !  — 

"  I'm  catching  sunshine,  mamma  dear, 
To  give  my  'ittle  f  owers." 

Type  of  all  children  there  was  she, 
Who  in  life's  garden  stand, 

Still  holding  tenderly  aloft 
Their  life-cup  in  their  hand. 

We,  buried  in  our  sordid  cares, 
Are  plants  that  droop  and  die ; 

They  catch  God's  sunshine  as  it  flows 
For  ever  from  on  high. 

Upon  our  weary,  aching  hearts 
They  let  its  blessing  fall ; 

Their  office  this  in  every  land, 
In  cottage,  hut,  and  hall. 

And  so  the  world  is  kept  alive, 
And  freshened  every  minute, 

By  the  dear  grace  that  overflows 
The  children  who  are  in  it. 

1869. 


GRA  D  UA  TION  H  YMN.  1 8 1 


HYMN 

Written  for  my  Divinity-School  Graduation. 


TERNAL  Ruler  of  the  ceaseless  round 
Of  circling  planets  singing  on  their  way ; 
Guide  of  the  nations  from  the  night  profound 

Into  the  glory  of  the  perfect  day  ; 
Rule  in  our  hearts,  that  we  may  ever  be 
Guided,  and  strengthened,  and  upheld  by 
Thee. 


We  are  of  Thee,  the  children  of  Thy  love, 
The  brothers  of  Thy  well-beloved  Son  • 

Descend,  O  Holy  Spirit,  like  a  dove, 
Into  our  hearts,  that  we  may  be  as  one ; 

As  one  with  Thee,  to  whom  we  ever  tend, 

As  one  with  Him,  our  brother  and  our  friend. 

We  would  be  one  in  hatred  of  all  wrong, 
One  in  our  love  of  all  things  sweet  and  fair, 

One  with  the  joy  that  breaketh  into  song, 
One  with  the  grief  that  trembles  into  prayer. 


182 


GRADUATION  HYMN. 


One  in  the  power  that  makes  Thy  children  free 
To  follow  truth,  and  thus  to  follow  Thee. 

Oh,  clothe  us  with  Thy  heavenly  armor,  Lord  ! 

Thy  trusty  shield,  Thy  sword  of  love  divine  ; 
Our  inspiration  be  Thy  constant  word, 

We  ask  no  victories  that  are  not  Thine ; 
Give  or  withhold,  let  pain  or  pleasure  be, 
Enough  to  know  that  we  are  serving  Thee. 

Cambridge,  1864. 


HYMN 


For  a  Friend's  Graduation. 


ORTH  from  the  calm  and  still  retreat, 
Into  the  world  so  wide  ; 
Forth  from  the  gently  rocking  fleet, 
Into  the  rushing  tide. 


We  know  Thy  seas  are  deep  and  wide, 
But  all  their  waves  are  Thine  ; 

And  over  them,  our  course  to  guide, 
Thy  stars  for  ever  shine. 


GRADUATION  HYMN.  I  S3 

Here  have  our  eyes  beheld  their  light, 

Now  by  it  let  us  fly, 
Before  the  gale  and  through  the  night, 

To  do  Thy  bidding  high  ; 

To  bear  our  little  freight  of  truth 

To  every  waiting  shore  ; 
To  seek  beyond  the  verge  of  youth, 

For  ever  more  and  more. 

Oh  that  each  had  a  stancher  ship, 

A  crew  more  sternly  bound, 
To  follow  the  horizon's  clip 

And  sail  the  world  around  ! 


Cambridge,  1868. 


1 8  4  DEDICA  TION  H  YMN. 


A    DEDICATION    HYMN. 

1ERE  in  a  corner  of  Thy  house, 
3]       Rock-ribbed  and  built  since  time  began, 
And  building  yet  with  art  divine 
Co-working  with  the  art  of  man, 
Our  hands,  O  God,  have  built  a  shrine, 
Our  hearts  have  vowed  to  make  it  Thine. 

Here  may  we  come  with  eager  feet, 
To  sing  Thy  love  and  learn  Thy  law, 

And  quench  our  inmost  being's  thirst 
At  those  deep  springs  of  sacred  awe, 

Which  underneath  our  being  run, 

From  sources  higher  than  the  sun. 

Here  may  the  vastness  of  Thy  house 
More  clearly  to  our  minds  appear; 

Its  mystery  grand  and  music  sweet 
Crow  ever  to  our  hearts  more  dear; 

And  TIi}-  dear  face,  the  more  we  yearn, 

Through  every  glowing  window  burn. 


1875. 


ORDINATION  HYMN.  1 85 

Oh,  here  may  every  thought  be  pure, 
And  every  passion  self-controlled  ; 

Here  all  our  words  be  kind  and  true, 
And  every  purpose  high  and  bold  : 

So  shall  Thy  presence  fill  the  shrine, 

And  all  our  hearts  and  lives  be  Thine. 


HYMN 

For  a  Friend's  Ordination. 

ORD  of  all  visions  fair  and  sweet, 

Thy  name  we  praise  that  here  to-day 
We  welcome  one  who  did  not  dare, 
Thy  vision  seen,  to  disobey ; 


But  up  and  followed  on  and  on, 

Though  rough  the  way  and  dark  the  night, 
Led  ever  by  that  threefold  gleam, 

The  True,  the  Beautiful,  the  Right. 

It  lured  him  on  through  many  lands  ; 

Through  generations  strange  and  old  ; 
To  Moses  with  his  face  aglow, 

To  Jesus  with  his  lips  of  gold. 


1 86 


THE  LAW  OF  LIBERTY. 


1870. 


No  longer  now  in  cloistered  calm 
He  feels  its  influence  benign ; 

It  leads  him  forth  •  it  leads  him  here, 
To  make  us  his  as  he  is  Thine. 

Lord  of  all  visions  sweet  and  fair, 
Thou  carest  not  for  time  or  place  ; 

Still  as  of  old  the  promise  stands,  — 
The  pure  in  heart  shall  see  Thy  face. 


THE   LAW   OF   LIBERTY. 


Sung  at  a  Festival  of  the  Free  Religious  Association, 


HOU,  whose  name  is  blazoned  forth 
On  our  banner's  gleaming  fold, 

Freedom  !  thou  whose  sacred  worth 
Never  yet  has  half  been  told, 

Often  have  we  sung  of  thee, 

Dear  to  us  as  dear  can  be. 


But  to-night  we  sing  of  one 
( >lder,  graver  far,  than  thou  \ 

With  the  seal  of  time  begun 
Stamped  upon  her  awful  brow: 

Freedom,  latest  born  of  time, 

Knowest  thou  her  form  sublime  ? 


SAINT  LOUIS.  187 

She  is  Duty :  in  her  hand 

Is  a  sceptre  heaven-brought ; 
Hers  the  accent  of  command, 

Hers  the  dreadful,  mystic  Ought ; 
Hers  upon  us  all  to  lay 
Heavier  burdens  every  day. 

But  her  bondage  is  so  sweet  ! 

And  her  burdens  make  us  strong ; 
Wings  they  seem  to  weary  feet, 

Laughter  to  our  lips  and  song : 
Freedom,  make  us  free  to  speed 
Wheresoever  she  may  lead. 


June,  1876. 


SAINT    LOUIS. 


OT  that  Saint  Louis,  who  so  long  ago 
Led  the  Crusaders  on  their  fateful  way 
JUS,    To  strike,  and  strive,  if  haply  they  might  win 
The  dear  Christ's  tomb  from  Saracenic  sway. 

Not  him,  but  our  Saint  Louis,  whom  the  world, 
The  great  loud  world,  will  never  widely  know,  — 

Safe  folded  in  our  hearts  his  memory  lies, 

Like  sweetest  mayflowers  under  winter's  snow. 


1 88  SAINT  LOUIS. 

But  he  was  more  to  us  who  knew  him  well, 
And  loved  him  for  his  simple,  modest  worth, 

Than  all  the  saints  who  died  so  long  ago, 

And  left  great  names  to  quicken  all  the  earth. 

We  never  saw  their  faces  strong  and  sweet ; 

We  never  heard  their  voices  kind  and  low; 
And  never  looked  their  eyes  into  our  own 

With  such  fond  looks  as  only  mothers  know. 

He  left  us  in  the  golden  summer-time, 

His  heart  all  hot  with  thoughts  of  joys  to  come, 

Counting  the  hours  ere  he  should  taste  again 
The  welcome  beauty  of  his  country-home. 

Soon  with  its  "all,  so  far,"  his  letter  came, 
To  share  his  joy  with  dear  ones  left  behind, 

And  then  —  oh,  words  so  hard  and  strange  and  sad, 
Though  tender  as  the  tenderest  hearts  could  find  ! 

Gone  in  the  bloom  and  beauty  of  his  youth  ! 

His  warm  heart  quenched  by  the  remorseless  stream ! 
Is  it  the  truth  ?  or  shall  we  wake  to  find 

That  it  is  but  the  shadow  of  a  dream  ? 

Truth,  and  not  truth;  dead,  and  he  liveth  still; 

Ay,  and  yet  speaketh,  and  we  hear  him  say, 
"  Though  'this  is  all,  so  far,'  it  is  not  all, 

And  weshall  meet  again  some  happy  day." 

1871. 


IN  JUNE. 


189 


IN   JUNE. 


'  I  show  you  a  mystery." 


FRIEND,  your  face  I  cannot  see, 

Your  voice  I  cannot  hear, 
But  for  us  both  breaks  at  our  feet 
The  flood-tide  of  the  year;  — 
The  summer-tide  all  beautiful 

With  fragrance,  and  with  song 
Sung  by  the  happy-hearted  birds 
To  cheer  the  months  along. 


And  so  the  mystery  I  show 

Is  this,  all  simple-sweet : 
Because  God's  summer-tide  so  breaks 

At  yours  and  at  my  feet, 
We're  not  so  very  far  apart 

As  it  at  first  would  seem  ; 
We're  near  each  other  in  the  Lord ; 

The  miles  are  all  a  dream. 


June  19,  1873. 


19°  ORDINATION  HYMN. 


HYMN 

For  the  Ordination  of  Mrs.  Celia  Burleigh. 


0  preach  Good  Tidings  !  this  the  call 
Heard  by  Thy  chosen  one  of  old, 
And  from  his  heart  the  tide  uprose, 
And  from  his  lips  the  current  rolled. 


To  preach  Good  Tidings  !  once  again 
That  call  divine  is  heard  to-day  j 

And  to  obey  the  high  command 
Thy  servant  here  is  on  her  way. 

Tidings  of  faith  and  hope  she  brings  ; 

Of  faith  that  cannot  doubt  or  fear, 
But  in  the  darkest  hour  can  trust 

A  loving  Father  ever  near  : 

Of  hope  for  all  who  live  or  die  ; 

For  all  who  sin  or  suffer  pain  ; 
Thai  all  who  here  must  say  farewell 

May  somehow,  somewhere,  meet  again. 


HORACE   GREELEY.  1 91 

Tidings  of  love  from  God  to  man  ; 

Of  human  love  that  makes  reply ; 
Of  man  for  man,  of  each  for  all, 

Here  and  for  evermore  on  high. 

0  Father  !  may  her  word  be  blest 
To  all  who  love  this  sacred  place  ; 

Here  may  they  learn  to  love  Thy  law, 
And  here  rejoice  to  see  Thy  face. 

October,  1871. 

HORACE   GREELEY. 

F  he  could  know  !  we  say  ;  could  he  but  know 

A  nation's  grief  above  his  stricken  form  ; 
What  tears  are  shed ;  how  tender,  pure,  and 
warm, 
From  eyes  unused  to  weeping,  fast  they  flow ! 

If  he  could  know  how  bitterly  they  rain 

For  words  that  had  no  depth  of  root  at  all ; 
If  he  could  feel  them  on  his  fragrant  pall 

Dropping  among  the  flowers  like  welcome  rain  ! 

If  he  could  know  that  it  has  all  come  back,  — 
The  love  we  bore  him  in  the  days  of  old  ; 
When  he  among  the  boldest  was  so  bold 

To  tempt  the  flame  of  slavery's  lurid  rack  ! 


192  HORACE   GREELEY. 

If  he  could  know  how  prudence  fought  with  love 
In  hearts  that  did  him  silent  reverence  still  ; 
How  hard  it  was  to  strike  through  him  to  kill 

The  hydra  that  so  long  against  him  strove  ! 

If  he  could  know  that  from  his  burning  speech 
We  learned  such  hate  and  horror  of  his  foe  — 
The  foe  of  all  —  that  we  perforce  were  slow 

To  deem  it  fled  for  ever  out  of  reach ! 

If  he  could  know  how  death  has  brushed  away 
The  films  of  passion  from  our  aching  eyes  ; 
How  through  our  tears  again  we  see  him  rise 

To  the  full  stature  of  an  earlier  day ! 

It  may  not  be.     He  lieth  cold  and  still ; 

The  fire  is  out  that  burned  in  that  great  frame 
With  genial  warmth,  anon  with  searing  flame. 

It  may  not  be,  call  loudly  as  you  will. 

It  may  not  be  ?     Look  up  to  heaven  above  ! 

It  is  not  he  that  lieth  cold  and  dead. 

The  garment  this  ;  the  man  himself  has  sped 
To  higher  seats  and  tasks  of  purer  love. 

])ut  nought  of  all  [he  glory  that  abounds 
in  his  new  home  does  he  so  precious  deem 
As  these  fond  tears  that  o'er  his  ashes  stream, 

While  his  great  spirit  walks  its  higher  rounds. 

I  .:].K,     1S72. 


CHARLES  SUMNER.  193 

CHARLES    SUMNER. 
Si  monununtum  reqzriris,  circumspice. 

Y,  look  around ;  but  thou  may'st  not  behold 
Aught  built  of  stone  and  carved  magnificent, 
With  dome  or  spire  high  up  towards  heaven 
sent, 
And  blazoned  all  with  crimson  and  with  gold. 
By  no  such  wonders  can  his  worth  be  told  ; 
Not  such  indeed  shall  be  his  monument, 
Our  statesman,  who  upon  God's  errands  went, 
For  freedom's  sake  the  boldest  of  the  bold. 

But  look  around,  and  say  what  thou  dost  see  ; 
Or  think  it  solemnly  with  bated  breath  : 

A  nation  with  no  man  who  is  not  free  ; 
A  nation  living  after  years  of  death  ; 
And  yet  to  live  a  life  more  pure  and  high 
Because  this  man  for  her  could  live  and  die. 


March,   1874. 


194  AFTER   SWEET  SINGING. 


AFTER    SWEET    SINGING. 


1  Consider  the  lilies." 


THINK  if  He  who  spake  that  blessed  word 
Had  sat  with  us  this  summer-morning  hour, 
And  heard  thy  tones,  so  full  of  music's  power, 
He  would  have  thought  some  mellow-throated 
bird, 
The  praise  of  his  sweet  kin  just  having  heard, 
Had  echoed  back  the  praise  of  bird  and  flower 
From  where  he  listened  in  his  leafy  bower, 
So  giving  thanks  for  honor  high  conferred. 

I  think  that  if  the  birds  themselves  should  hear 
Across  this  air,  so  sweet  with  lilies  made. 

Thy  cheery  notes  ring  out  so  fresh  and  clear, 
While  all  their  own  are  hushed  till  evening's  shade, 
They  too  would  wonder  from  what  song-bird  rare 
(  lame  such  a  song,  so  sweet  beyond  compare. 

Junk,  187  i. 


WILLIAM  HENRY  FUR  NESS.  1 95 


WILLIAM    HENRY    FURNESS. 

Read  at  the  Celebration  of  the  Fiftieth  Anniversary  of  his 
Settlement  in  Philadelphia. 

TANDING  upon  the  summit  of  thy  years, 
Dear  elder  brother,  what  dost  thou  behold, 
Along  the  way  thy  tireless  feet  have  come 
From  that  far  day,  when  young  and  fresh 
and  bold, 
Hearing  a  voice  that  called  thee  from  on  high, 
Thou  answeredst  quickly,  "  Father,  here  am  I." 

Fain  would  we  see  all  that  thine  eyes  behold  ; 

And  yet  not  all,  for  there  is  secret  store 
Of  joy  and  sorrow  in  each  private  heart, 

To  which  no  stranger  openeth  the  door. 
But  thou  canst  speak  of  many  things  beside, 
While  we  a  little  space  with  thee  abide. 

Tell  us  of  those  who  fifty  years  ago 

Started  thee  forth  upon  thy  sacred  quest, 

Who  all  have  gone  before  thee,  each  alone, 
To  seek  and  find  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

To-day  me  thinks  that  there  as  well  as  here 

Is  kept  all  tenderly  thy  golden  year. 


196  WILLIAM  HENRY  FURXESS. 

Tell  us,  for  thou  didst  know  and  love  him  well, 
Of  Channing's  face,  —  of  those  dilating  eyes 

That  seemed  to  catch,  while  he  was  with  us  here, 
Glimpses  of  things  beyond  the  upper  skies. 

Tell  us  of  that  weak  voice,  which  was  so  strong 

To  cleave  asunder  every  form  of  wrong. 

Thou  hast  had  good  companions  on  thy  way ; 

Gannett  was  with  thee  in  his  ardent  prime, 
And  with  thee  still  when  outward  feebleness 

But  made  his  spirit  seem  the  more  sublime, 
Till,  like  another  prophet,  summoned  higher, 
He  found,  like  him,  a  chariot  of  fire. 

And  that  beloved  disciple  was  thy  friend, 

Whose  heart  was  blither  than  the  name  he  bore, 

Who  yet  could  hide  the  tenderness  of  May, 
And,  bleaker  than  December,  downward  pour 

The  tempest  of  his  wrath  on  slavery's  lie, 

And  all  that  takes  from  man's  humanity. 

And  thou  hast  walked  with  our  Saint  THEODORE, 
Our  warrior-saint,  well-named  the  gift  of  God, 

Whose  manful  hate  of  every  hateful  thing 
Blossomed  with  pity,  e'en  as  Aaron's  rod, 

And  lips  that  cursed  the  priest  and  Pharisee 

(lathered  more  honey  than  the  wilding  bee. 


WILLIAM  HENRY  FUR  NESS.  197 

All  these  are  gone,  and  Sumner's  heart  beneath 
Should  make  more  pure  the  yet  untainted  snow  \ 

Our  one  great  statesman  of  these  latter  days, 
Happy  wert  thou  his  other  side  to  know  ; 

To  call  him  friend,  whom  ages  yet  unborn 

Shall  love  tenfold  for  every  breath  of  scorn. 

All  these  are  gone,  but  one  is  with  us  still, 
So  frail  that  half  we  deem  she  will  not  die, 

But  slow  exhale  her  earthly  part  away, 

And  wear  e'en  here  the  vesture  of  the  sky. 

Lucretia,  blessed  among  women  she, 

Dear  friend  of  Truth,  and  Peace,  and  Liberty. 

And  one,  whose  form  is  as  the  Son  of  Man, 

Has  been  with  thee  through  all  these  busy  years  ; 

Holden  our  eyes,  and  He  to  us  has  seemed 
As  one  seen  dimly  through  a  mist  of  tears  ; 

But  thou  hast  seen  Him  clearly  face  to  face, 

And  told  us  of  His  sweetness  and  His  grace. 

Standing  upon  the  summit  of  thy  years, 
Dear  elder  brother,  thou  canst  see  the  day 

When  slavery's  curse  had  sway  in  all  the  land, 
And  thou  art  here,  and  that  has  passed  away. 

We  give  thee  joy  that  in  its  hour  of  pride 

Thy  voice  and  hand  were  on  the  weaker  side. 


198  WILLIAM  HENRY  FUR  NESS. 

But  from  thy  clear  and  lofty  eminence 

Let  not  thine  eyes  be  ever  backward  turned, 

For  thou  canst  see  before  as  cannot  we 

Who  have  not  yet  thy  point  of  vantage  earned. 

Tell  us  of  what  thou  seest  in  the  years 

That  look  so  strange,  seen  through  our  hopes  and  fears. 

Nothing  we  know  to  shake  thy  steadfast  mind  ; 

Nothing  to  quench  thy  heart  with  doubt  or  fear ; 
But  higher  truth  and  holier  love  revealed, 

And  justice  growing  to  man's  heart  more  dear. 
And  everywhere  beneath  high  heaven's  cope, 
A  deeper  trust,  a  larger,  better  hope. 

There  are  some  here  that  shall  not  taste  of  death 
Till  they  have  seen  the  kingdom  come,  with  power. 

O  brave  forerunner,  wheresoe'er  thou  art, 
Thou  wilt  be  glad  with  us  in  that  glad  hour. 

Farewell !     Until  we  somewhere  meet  again, 

We  know  in  whom  we  have  believed.     Amen. 

January  12,  1875. 


EZRA    STILES  GANNETT. 


199 


EZRA   STILES   GANNETT. 


T  eve  there  shall  be  light,"  the  promise  runs 
In  the  dear  volume  that  he  loved  so  well ; 
Ay,  and  for  him  the  promise  was  fulfilled, 
When  rang  for  him  the  solemn  vesper-bell. 

His  was  no  day  of  sweet,  unsullied  blue, 

And  bright,  warm  sunshine  on  the  grass  and  flowers  ; 
But  many  a  cloud  of  loss  and  grief  and  pain 

Dropped  its  deep  shadow  on  the  fleeting  hours. 

Clear  were  his  morning  hours,  and  calm  and  bright ; 

His  sun  shot  up  with  splendid  fiery  beam  • 
And  men  were  glad  and  revelled  in  its  light, 

And  leaped  to  welcome  it  from  sleep  and  dream. 

Then  came  a  cloud  and  overshadowed  him, 
And  chilled  him  with  a  presage  as  of  death  j 

And  never  did  it  quite  forsake  his  sky. 

But  sought  him  often  with  its  eager  breath. 

For  still,  though  hours  were  his  serene  and  still, 
And  radiant  hours  of  steady,  glowing  noon, 

That  cloud  of  pain  was  ever  near  to  touch 
With  quivering  sadness  every  brightest  boon. 


200  EZRA    STILES  GANNETT. 

And  as  his  afternoon  drew  on  to  eve 

And  still  he  lingered  in  the  whitened  field,  — 

The  reapers  were  so  few,  till  night  should  fall 
Fain  would  his  hand  the  heavy  sickle  wield,  — 

Darker  it  grew  and  darker  o'er  the  land, 
And  he  was  forced  to  lay  his  sickle  by ; 

But  did  it  brighten,  then  his  hand  was  quick 
To  seize  once  more  its  opportunity. 

So  the  day  faded,  and  the  evening  came ; 

Then  from  the  sky  the  clouds  were  furled  away, 
And  a  great  peace  and  beauty  welcomed  in 

The  evening  star  with  her  benignant  ray. 

And  all  the  air  was  hushed  and  whispering, 
And  all  the  sky  was  purely,  softly  bright ; 

And  so  the  blessed  promise  was  fulfilled  : 

"  At  eve,"  it  said,  —  "  at  eve  there  shall  be  light." 

But  that  fair  evening  did  not  end  in  night, 
With  shadows  deep  and  darkness  all  forlorn ; 

Just  at  its  brightest  he  was  snatched  away 
Into  the  golden  palaces  of  morn. 

And  surely  since  the  Master  went  that  way, 
To  welcome  there  earth's  holiest  and  best, 

He  has  not  welcomed  one  who  loved  him  more 
Than  he  who  leaned  that  evening  on  his  breast. 

August,  1871. 


BALD-CAP   REVISITED.  201 


BALD-CAP   REVISITED. 

]LEVEN  years,  and  two  fair  months  beside, 
Full  to  the  brim  with  various  love  and  joy, 
My  life  has  known  since  last  I  drew  apart 
Into  this  huge  sky-shouldering  mountain  dome. 
And,  listening,  heard  the  winds  among  the  pines 
Making  a  music  as  of  countless  choirs, 
Chanting  in  sweet  and  solemn  unison ; 
And,  standing  here  where  God's  artificers, 
Angels  of  frost  and  fire  and  sun  and  storm, 
Have  made  a  floor  with  nameless  gems  inlaid, 
Saw,  like  a  roof,  the  slopes  of  living  green 
Go  cleaving  down  to  meet  the  lower  hills,  — 
Firm-buttressed  walls,  their  bases  over-grown 
With  meadow-sweet  and  ferns  and  tangled  vines, 
And  all  that  makes  the  road-sides  beautiful ; 
While,  all  around  me,  other  domes  arose, 
Girded  with  towers  and  eager  pinnacles, 
Into  the  silent  and  astonished  air. 
Full  oft,  since  then,  up-looking  from  below, 
As  naught  to  me  has  been  the  pleasantness 
Of  meadows  broad,  and,  'mid  them,  flowing  wide 
The  Androscoggin's  dark  empurpled  stream, 


202  BALD-CAP  REVISITED. 

Enamoured  of  thine  awful  loveliness, 

Thy  draperies  of  forests  overspread 

With  shadows  and  with  silvery,  shining  mists, 

Thy  dark  ravines  and  cloud-conversing  top, 

Where  it  would  almost  seem  that  one  might  hear 

The  talk  of  angels  in  the  happy  blue  ;  — 

And  so,  in  truth,  my  heart  has  heard  to-day. 

Dear  sacred  Mount,  not  thine  alone  the  charm 
By  which  thou  dost  so  overmaster  me, 
But  something  in  thy  lover's  beating  heart. 
Something  of  memories  vague  and  fond  and  sweet, 
Something  of  what  he  cannot  be  again, 
Something  of  sharp  regret  for  vanished  joys, 
And  faces  that  he  may  no  more  behold, 
And  voices  that  he  listens  for  in  vain, 
And  feet  whose  welcome  sound  he  hears  no  more, 
And  hands  whose  touch  could  make  his  being  thrill 
With  love's  dear  rapture  of  delicious  pain, — 
Something  of  all  the  years  that  he  lias  lived, 
Of  all  the  joy  and  sorrow  he  has  known. 
Since  first  with  eager  feet  and  heart  aflame 
He  struggled  up  thy  steep  and  shaggy  sides. 

Sun  flecked,  leaf  shaded  realms  of  life  in  death, 
And  stood,  as  now,  upon  thy  topmost  crest. 
Trembling  with  joy  and  tender  unto  tears  ;  — 
Something  of  all  these  things  mingles  with  thee, — 
Green  of  thy  leaves  and  whiteness  of  thy  clouds, 


BALD-CAP  REVISITED.  203 

Rush  of  thy  streams  and  rustle  of  thy  pines,  — 

With  all  thy  strength  and  all  thy  tenderness, 

Till  thou  art  loved  not  for  thyself  alone, 

But  for  the  love  of  many  who  are  gone, 

And  most  of  all  for  one  who  still  remains 

To  make  all  sights  more  fair,  all  sounds  more  sweet, 

All  life  more  dear  and  glad  and  wonderful. 

Eleven  years,  and  thou  so  little  changed ! 
No  change  but  what  the  changing  season  brings ; 
For  then,  in  June,  thou  wast  all  greenery ; 
Now,  in  September,  thou  art  turning  sere, 
Or  hanging  many  a  leafy  banner  out, 
Blazoned  with  gold  ;  and  'mid  the  sombre  rows 
Of  priest-like  pines,  along  thy  forest  aisles, 
Gteams  here  and  there  a  red-cloaked  cardinal ; 
And  old  decay  is  covered  everywhere 
With  the  fresh-fallen  leaves,  making  such  show 
As  never  caliph  with  his  floors  entiled 
With  warmest-hued  and  shapeliest  arabesques. 
Thou  hast  not  changed.     As  it  were  yesterday 
I  stood  upon  thy  moss-grown  parapet, 
Familiar  seems  each  lightning-splintered  crag, 
Each  slope  that  shimmers  in  the  sunny  wind, 
Each  outer  court  through  which  with  crackling  tread 
I  pressed  into  thy  presence-chamber  vast. 
And  dared  to  sit  upon  thy  sculptured  throne. 
Still  through  the  broad  and  grassy  intervale 


204  BALD-CAP   REVISITED. 

The  river  into  which  thy  torrents  run 

Flows  swiftly  on,  setting  with  amethyst 

Full  many  a  little  emerald-tinted  isle, 

Past  many  a  pebbly,  drought-discovered  shoal, 

And  over  many  a  shallow,  rippling  ford, 

For  ever  singing  as  it  hurries  by, 

Impatient  to  be  mingled  with  the  sea. 

And  still  on  every  side  stand  reaching  up 

Into  the  blue,  illimitable  air 

Thy  huge,  sky-cleaving,  cloud-compelling  peers, 

Baring  their  knotted  bosoms  to  the  sun. 

Still,  as  of  yore,  the  shadows  troop  ad  own 

Their  mighty  slopes,  or  ever  deeper  grow 

Amid  the  brawn  of  every  dark  ravine. 

Thou  art  not  changed ;  the  same  from  year  to  year 

Are  all  thy  great  and  dear  companions. 

There  comes  to  thee  no  morn  when  thou  dost  miss 

This  one  or  that  from  his  accustomed  place, 

And  watch  in  vain  for  him  to  come  again. 

Would  it  were  so  with  me  !     But,  as  I  gaze 

Abroad  upon  thy  stalwart  brotherhood, 

A  dimness  conies,  which  is  not  of  the  hills, 

Between  me  and  their  everlastingness, 

To  think  that  since  I  hailed  thy  glory  first 

So  many  of  my  mates  have  -one  away 

Beyond  the  misty  mountain-tops  of  death, 

That  well-nigh  for  each  peak  I  count  a  grave. 

Fades  out  the  valley's  peace,  the  purple  glow 


BALD-CAP   REVISITED.  205 

That  now  begins  to  bathe  the  distant  hills, 

And  in  their  stead  I  see  the  faces  strong 

And  sweet  of  dear  ones  whom  I  shall  not  meet  again 

Until  I  bid  my  last  farewell  to  thee. 

Dear,  mighty  friend,  oh  deem  not  that  I  chide 
Aught  thou  hast  done  to  make  thyself  appear 
Spectral  and  dim,  and  with  thee  all  thy  kin, 
And  nothing  real  but  those  faces  pure 
That  in  the  infinite  space  of  heart  and  mind 
Press  cheek  to  cheek,  so  dense  the  angel-throng  • 
As  in  the  backgrounds  Raphael  loved  to  paint 
For  Mary  and  her  wonder-gifted  child : 
No  other  service  thou  couldst  render  me 
Would  seem  so  tender  and  so  good  as  this. 
Yet  were  my  heart  ungrateful  if  alone 
Of  vanished  joys  I  heard  the  solemn  voice 
Of  all  thy  sounds  and  all  thy  silences 
Soft-speaking,  here,  as  hour  succeeds  to  hour, 
Each  than  the  last  more  rare  and  mystical. 
"  Though  much  has  gone,"  thou  say'st,  "  since  first  I  tried 
Thy  youthful  strength  with  rigors  all  unknown, 
How  much  remains  !     How  much  is  now  thine  own 
Which  then  thou  hadst  no  knowledge  of  or  dream  ! 
What  joy  of  friends  and  books,  and  perfect  days 
When  earth  to  heaven  seemed  nearer  than  its  wont ; 
What  sacred  hours  of  high  companionship  ; 
What  deeper  love  where  love  was  rife  before  ; 


206  BALD-CAP  REVISITED. 

What  faces  and  what  voices  from  the  void, 
Shaping  themselves  for  you  to  bend  and  kiss, 
Rounding  themselves  for  you  to  list  and  hear ; 
What  deeper  sense  of  all  the  mystery 
In  which  you  lie  embosomed  evermore  !  " 

Thou  sayest  this  ?     Nay,  'tis  no  voice  of  thine. 
Not  to  remember  either  loss  or  gain 
Do  thy  enchantments  lure  the  hearts  of  men. 
Tis  their  device  to  use  thy  beetling  crao-s 
-bor  rock-hewn  stairs,  by  which  they  may  ascend 
To  secret  shrines  of  memory  and  prayer. 
'Tis  thine  to  make  them  lose  themselves  in  thee  ; 
Ay,  to  forget  their  individual  life, 
And  feel  themselves  but  parts  of  that  which  breathes 
With  thy  sweet-scented  breath  of  trees  that  sway 
And  rustle  in  the  wind;  of  that  which  creeps 
In  every  lichen's  slow  and  noiseless  tread, 
Or  warms  thy  heart  with  ardors  of  the  sun. 
Sleep,  mind  and  heart,  and  let  the  body  wake 
And  every  sense  with  speechless  rapture  thrill. 
Full  soon,  somehow,  God's  wondrous  alchemy 
The  senses'  joy  shall  turn  to  spirit's  praise  ; 
Seeing  that  soul  and  sense'  are  not  at  war, 
But  each  the  other's  gentle  servitor. 
Drink  deep,  ()  sense,  and  there  shall  come  a  day 
When  heart  and  soul  shall  share  thy  freshening. 
And  for  this  perfect  peace  in  which  i  lie, 


BALD-CAP  REVISITED.  20J 

Bathing  myself  in  heaven's  upper  air, 
Curtained  with  clouds,  with  carpets  for  my  feet 
Such  as  the  proudest  sultan  could  not  buy 
With  all  the  hoarded  wealth  of  centuries,  — 
For  this  I  know,  that  when  —  no,  not  too  soon  — 
Again  I  thread  the  city's  crowded  ways, 
And  mingle  with  its  mighty  swarm  of  men, 
And  bend  myself  to  do  the  tasks  I  love, 
I  shall  with  stouter  heart  and  firmer  mind 
Pursue  my  way  ;  sustained  by  greater  hopes  ; 
Cheered  by  a  deeper  faith  in  all  the  world, 
And  a  more  loving  trust,  my  God,  in  Thee. 

Shelburxe,  N.H.,  Sept.  1876. 


208 


AULD  LANG  SYNE. 


AULD  LANG  SYNE. 


T  singeth  low  in  every  heart, 
We  hear  it  each  and  all,  — 
A  song  of  those  who  answer  not, 
However  we  may  call  j 
They  throng  the  silence  of  the  breast. 

We  see  them  as  of  yore,  — 
The  kind,  the  brave,  the  true,  the  sweet, 
Who  walk  with  us  no  more. 


'Tis  hard  to  take  the  burden  up. 

When  these  have  laid  it  down  j 
They  brightened  all  the  joy  of  life, 

They  softened  every  frown  ; 
But,  oh,  'tis  good  to  think  of   them, 

When  we  are  troubled  sore! 
Thanks  be  to  God  that  such  have  been, 

Although  they  are  no  more! 


More  home  like  seems  the  vast  unknown, 

Since  they  have  entered  there  j 


AULD   LANG   SYXE.  2(X) 

To  follow  them  were  not  so  hard, 

Wherever  they  may  fare  ; 
They  cannot  be  where  God  is  not, 

On  any  sea  or  shore  ; 
Whate'er  betides,  Thy  love  abides, 

Our  God,  for  evermore. 


April,  1876. 


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